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THE FAITH HEALER
Martha takes up mechanically her eternal task of setting things to rights—gathering up Annie's toys and arranging the furniture in more precise order. Meanwhile, Rhoda enters from the hall with the mother of the sick child, a frail young woman of nervous type. She clings to Rhoda feverishly.)
Mother. Don't leave me!
Rhoda. You must n't worry. Your baby will get well. (Rhoda sinks in a low easy chair before the fire, and the woman kneels beside her, her face hidden on the chair arm.) You must keep up your courage and your trust. That will help more than anything.
Mother. I'm afraid!
Rhoda. Think of those others out there, who are waiting too, without the glimpse of comfort you've had.
Mother. (Bursts out.) I ain't had no comfort! When I heard him pray for my child, I—I don't know—I kept sayin' to myself—"O God, it's me that's stretchin' out my hands to you, not him. Don't punish me for his cold words!"
(Martha, who has been listening, shakes her head significantly.)
Rhoda. Cold words!
Mother. Yes, I know it's wrong. I'll try to feel different. It's because I ain't had nothin' to do with religion for so long.—If my baby gets well, I'll make up for it. I'll make up for everything.
(The woman rises. Rhoda kisses her.)
Rhoda. I shall be here if you want me. And I shall—pray for you.
(The mother goes out. Distant singing is heard. Martha comes to the mantelpiece with matches, which she arranges in the match tray. She looks at Rhoda, who sits with closed eyes.)
Martha. Guess you're about dead beat.
Rhoda. I think I never was so tired in my life.
Martha. Worry does it, more'n work. Better try and doze off, Rhody.
(The hall door opens, and Annie enters. She comes to Martha, and clings nervously to her skirts.)
Annie. Aunt Martha! I want to stay with you. You're the only person in this house that ain't different. What's the matter with Mamma?
Martha. She's cured, I reckon.
Annie. How did she get cured?
Martha. You can search me!
Annie. Did that man cure her?
Martha. That's what she says, and I don't hear him denyin' it.
Annie. (Whining.) I don't want her to be cured!
Martha. Annie Beeler! Don't want your mother to be cured?
Annie. No, I don't. I want her to be like she always has been. She don't seem like my Mamma at all this way. What's the matter with all those people out there? Why don't we have any supper? (She bursts out crying and clings feverishly to Martha.) Oh, what's going to happen to us?
Martha. There, Annie, don't cry. (She looks at Rhoda, throws a cover over her knees, and draws Annie away, speaking low.) Come out in the kitchen, and I'll give you your supper.
(Exeunt. The singing grows louder and nearer. Michaelis enters from the hall. His hair is dishevelled, his collar open, his manner feverish and distraught. He looks closely at Rhoda, sees she is sleeping, then paces the floor nervously, gazing out of the window in the direction of the singing. At length he comes to Rhoda again, and bends over her, studying her face. She starts up, confused and terror-stricken, from her doze.)
Rhoda. What—what is the matter? Oh, you frightened me so!(Michaelis turns away without answering.) What has happened? Why are you here?
Michaelis. You had dropped asleep. You are weary.
Rhoda. (Collecting her thoughts with difficulty.) I was dreaming—such a strange dream.
Michaelis. What did you dream?
Rhoda. I thought it was morning; the sun had risen, and—and you were out there, in the midst of the crowd.
Michaelis. (Excitedly.) Go on! What happened?
Rhoda. I—I can't remember the rest.
Michaelis. (Grasps her arm, speaks low.) You must remember! Did I—succeed?
Rhoda. (Helplessly.) I—it's all a blur in my mind.
Michaelis. (Darkly.) You don't want me to know that, in your dream, I failed.
Rhoda. No, no. That is not so. (Pause. She speaks with hesitation.) Perhaps