THE VOICE

And because I knew the happiness of love could not endure in deceit, nor the wine give life if we drank it in a cup that was stained, I put you from me—­in the world’s sight we meet no more.

THE WOMAN

In the world’s sight ... and in the sight of God and man shall I be faithful to him from now on, in thought and deed and word, as a heart may be.  Yes, Paul ... even that can I endure for your sake.  For I know that hereafter—­

THE VOICE

For love there is neither here nor hereafter, but the realization of love is ever according to his triumph.  This has come to me suddenly, a light in the darkness, and I have won the truth by supreme pain.

THE WOMAN

That, too, Paul. Pain....  I have been weak.  I gave way to my nerves, but now in your presence I am strong again, and I shall not fail you.

THE VOICE

My presence is where your love is, and as your love so my nearness.  Love me as I love you now, and I shall be more real to you than your hands and your eyes.

THE WOMAN

Bone of one bone, and flesh of one flesh....

THE VOICE

Spirit of one spirit!  The flesh we have put away.

THE WOMAN

That, too, Paul.  Oh the glory of it!  So be my happiness that I shall not wish it changed, even before the Throne!

THE VOICE

I have given you happiness?

THE WOMAN

Perfect happiness, Paul.  I am happy, happier than I ever was before.  But before I go home from here for the last time, turn on the light, Paul, that we may be to each other always as the wonder of this moment.  For the last time, Paul.  Paul?...  Paul?  Where are you?  Why don’t you answer?... Paul! (She turns on the light.  It is a studio.  At the piano, fallen forward upon the keys, sits the body of a man.  There is a revolver on the floor beside him.) Paul!... As I saw him! Is this my happiness.  Oh God, must I?

A MODERN PRODIGAL

The scene shows Uncle Richard’s library, a massive and expensive interior suggesting prosperity rather than meditation.  It is obviously new, and in the whole room there is only one intimate and human note, a quaint little oil painting of a boy with bright eyes—­Uncle Richard at the age of eleven.

Richard walks about, waiting for his uncle, and examines the appointments with more curiosity than reverence.  Stopping by the mantle for a moment he notices, with a start of surprise, his own photograph.  He turns away with a shrug just as his uncle hurriedly enters.