Hop.  Certainly, madam.

[He starts to the door.

Winth.  I am distressed beyond all words to see this condition of your home. (He comes to the sofa, very near the chair).  You must let my company have your furniture repaired.  Too bad.  Too bad.

[He looks at the other things.

Mrs. S. (almost hysterical).  Believe me this does not matter.  Now, if you will let Fair take you to the dining room—­

Winth.  You’ll come with us, Miss Charlotte?

Char.  In just a moment, sir.

[He starts to the door.  The sofa is partially before him. 
He turns and comes in front of the chair where Carter
is concealed.

Winth. (stops with a great start, gazing at Carter).  My God!

[Charlotte shrinks back, wild with terror.  Hopkins turns at door.

Hop. (coming forward quickly).  What is it?

[Carter rises from the chair, despairing, yet with simple dignity.

Carter.  I surrender, sir!

Hop.  Hillary! (He turns to Winthrop).  It is—­

Winth.  The worst!

[Charlotte comes slowly before Winthrop.  She is very white. 
She tries to speak, but her lips give no sound.  She
comes nearer.

Char.  My brother!  In God’s name what will you do? (Winthrop turns away).  Speak!  What will it mean?

Winth. (slowly, with a tremendous effort).  That we—­

Char.  The worst!

Winth.  The best that I can do.

Char. (a wild gleam of hope in her face).  You will save him.  You can do this for us; say he will live; we ask no more than that.  His life—­you hear—­his life; give that to me!

Carter (gently putting his arm around her).  Hush, dearest.  That must be enough.  I am his prisoner.  You must not ask for that which in honor he must refuse.

Char. (breaking wildly from him).  You hear, mother; Fair, you hear.  Speak to him.  Ah, he cannot refuse.  Speak to him.  Down on your knees, if it must be.  Mother, go to him.  It is my brother’s life!

Hop. (to Winthrop).  There’s nothing else—­for us?

Winth.  Our duty.  Help me, boy.  God knows I need it.

Mrs. S. (coming before Winthrop; speaking in a low, strained voice).  We await your pleasure.  Is there nothing you can do?  In the happy memory of the days that are not deeply buried in the past, in memory of the love we bore to you; in memory of the state that gave you birth—­and that has always held a home for you; in memory of all this, say what you can do for us.  If you take him, then tear out our hearts and take them too.  Oh, surely, there is something you can do.  Speak now, for those who are your kinsmen and have loved you await your answer.

[Winthrop has stood gazing off before him, his hands clenched
at his side.  Breathing heavily he turns to them.

Winth.  My duty to the country that has put her trust in me must give your answer, not my heart, for that seems dead (slowly).  He must go with me.