Anderson.  Don’t speak so strangely, my love.  It sounds insincere to me. (She looks unutterable reproach at him.) Yes, dear, nonsense is always insincere; and my dearest is talking nonsense.  Just nonsense. (Her face darkens into dumb obstinacy.  She stares straight before her, and does not look at him again, absorbed in Richard’s fate.  He scans her face; sees that his rallying has produced no effect; and gives it up, making no further effort to conceal his anxiety.) I wish I knew what has frightened you so.  Was there a struggle?  Did he fight?

Judith.  No.  He smiled.

Anderson.  Did he realise his danger, do you think?

Judith.  He realised yours.

Anderson.  Mine!

Judith (monotonously).  He said, “See that you get him safely out of harm’s way.”  I promised:  I can’t keep my promise.  He said, “Don’t for your life let him know of my danger.”  I’ve told you of it.  He said that if you found it out, you could not save him—­ that they will hang him and not spare you.

Anderson (rising in generous indignation).  And you think that I will let a man with that much good in him die like a dog, when a few words might make him die like a Christian?  I’m ashamed of you, Judith.

Judith.  He will be steadfast in his religion as you are in yours; and you may depend on him to the death.  He said so.

Anderson.  God forgive him!  What else did he say?

Judith.  He said goodbye.

Anderson (fidgeting nervously to and fro in great concern).  Poor fellow, poor fellow!  You said goodbye to him in all kindness and charity, Judith, I hope.

Judith.  I kissed him.

Anderson.  What!  Judith!

Judith.  Are you angry?

Anderson.  No, no.  You were right:  you were right.  Poor fellow, poor fellow! (Greatly distressed.) To be hanged like that at his age!  And then did they take him away?

Judith (wearily).  Then you were here:  that’s the next thing I remember.  I suppose I fainted.  Now bid me goodbye, Tony.  Perhaps I shall faint again.  I wish I could die.

Anderson.  No, no, my dear:  you must pull yourself together and be sensible.  I am in no danger—­not the least in the world.

Judith (solemnly).  You are going to your death, Tony—­your sure death, if God will let innocent men be murdered.  They will not let you see him:  they will arrest you the moment you give your name.  It was for you the soldiers came.

Anderson (thunderstruck).  For me!!! (His fists clinch; his neck thickens; his face reddens; the fleshy purses under his eyes become injected with hot blood; the man of peace vanishes, transfigured into a choleric and formidable man of war.  Still, she does not come out of her absorption to look at him:  her eyes are steadfast with a mechanical reflection of Richard’s stead-fastness.)