What are you saying?
Marie.
I shall leave this place----
Pastor.
_You_----
Marie.
To-day, I leave this house!
Pastor.
Pardon me, if I have forced my attentions upon you----
Marie.
No! You have not!
Pastor.
My attentions were honorable, I a.s.sure you----
Marie.
Thank you, Pastor, I know that; but----
Pastor.
Then it is not on my account you are leaving?
Marie.
Certainly not!
Pastor.
Does any one here know of your intention?
Marie.
No one!
Pastor.
Miss Marie, I am still a young man; if I should mention such a word as "life"s happiness," it would, perhaps, sound absurd. Therefore, I will not speak of myself. My fate is in my own hands. But if you realize this moment what you owe to this house--and I say this not for mine, nor for their sake, I say it for yours and yours alone; though I am but a poor mortal--it pains me--but be that as it may--Marie, if you cause a discord in this house, the blame will rest upon yourself.
Marie.
Perhaps!
Pastor.
Pardon me--I will not question you. I wish to know nothing; that, in the end, is always the best. Did I not love you as well as myself, I would not speak another word; but as matters stand now, I will say one--aye, one more word--I would not have dared to say otherwise. The greatest, the highest thing one possesses in this world, is his life"s _melody_--a certain strain that ever vibrates, that his soul forever sings--waking or dreaming, loudly or softly, internally or externally.
Others may say: "His temperament or his character is so, or so." He only smiles, for he knows his melody and he knows it alone. You see, Miss Marie, my life"s happiness you have destroyed, but my life"s melody you can not take from me. That is pure and will always remain so. And now I say to you, Miss Marie, if you fill this house, where you have obtained everything you possess--honor, bread, and love--if you fill this house with sorrow--if you dare to sin against your father and your mother----
Marie.
One moment, Pastor. My father and my mother--what do you know about them? My father I don"t know myself, but my mother? Ah yes, I know her well; and from her I have inherited my life"s melody. This melody has a beautiful text. Do you want to know what it is, Pastor? It is, "_Thou shalt steal_. Steal everything for thyself--thy life"s happiness--thy love--all--all. Only others will enjoy it in the end." Yes, Pastor, my mother is a thief. On St. John"s eve she came stealthily over yonder garden hedge; and as my mother, so am I! And now, Pastor, ask me no more; I need all my senses, for to-day my entire happiness is at stake!
There--now you know all!
Pastor.
Yes, now I know! Farewell, Miss Marie. I will forget this day, perhaps; _you_--never----
[_Exit_.]
Gertrude.
[_Enters door L._] Was that George, who just now left?
Marie.
Were you at that door, listening?
Gertrude.
_Marie_!--For shame!!!!!
Marie.
Now go and dress yourself; I will call George. Go now, go!
Gertrude.
And will you come and tell me at once?
Marie.
At once! Yes!! [Gertrude _exits_.] [Marie _calling softly_.] George!
George!
George.
[_Enters from veranda_.] Are you alone?