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can mean happiness. Let us make haste to gather it. Come!

Rhoda. Where do you want me to go?

Michaelis. Anywhere—to that place I told you of—high in the great mountains.

Rhoda. I was there last night.

Michaelis. In your thoughts?

Rhoda. I was there, and saw all the beauty of it, all the peace. But one thing was not there, and for lack of it, in a little while the beauty faded and the peace was gone.

Michaelis. What was not there?

Rhoda. The work you have to do.

Michaelis. That was a dream I could not realize. I have striven, and I have failed.

Rhoda. Do you know why you have failed?

Michaelis. Yes.

Rhoda. Tell me why.

Michaelis. Because I have loved you more than the visions that came to me in desert places, more than the powers that fell upon me at the bedside of the sick, more than the spirit hands and spirit voices that have guided me on my way.

Rhoda. What of the sick and suffering out yonder, who are waiting and hoping against hope? What of them?

Michaelis. I cannot help them.

Rhoda. Once you dreamed you could.

Michaelis. Yes. But that is over.

Rhoda. And who is to blame that that great dream is over?

Michaelis. No one is to blame. It has happened so.

Rhoda. Doesn't it seem strange that the love of a woman entering into your heart should take away such a dream as that?

Michaelis. I do not question. It is so.

Rhoda. But if your love had fallen, by some sad chance, upon a woman who was not worthy of love?

Michaelis. What are you saying?

Rhoda. You know less than nothing of me. You have not asked me a single question about my life.

Michaelis. There was no need.

Rhoda. There was need! There was need!

Michaelis. Be careful what you say. Go on!

Rhoda. In the first hour of our meeting, and all the hours of the next day, you swept me along and lifted me above myself, like a strong mind. I did n't know what you were. I did n't know why I was happy and exalted. It was so long since I had been happy, and I had never been as happy as that, or anything like it. Then, yesterday morning, came the revelation of what you were, like a blinding light out of the sky! And while I stood dazed, trembling, I saw something descend upon you like a shadow. You loved me, and that love was dreadful to you. You thought it was so because I was a woman and stole your spirit's strength away. But it was not that. It was because I was a wicked woman.

Michaelis. Why do you call yourself a wicked woman?

Rhoda. Because I am so.

Michaelis. I cannot believe it.

Rhoda. It is true.

Michaelis. Is that why you wanted to go away?

Rhoda. Yes, I tried to go away. You wouldn't let me go. Then I tried to tell you the truth. I knew why I took your strength away, and I had nerved myself to tell you why. But you began to speak—those wild words. I could not resist you. You took me in your arms; and all the power of your soul went from you, and your life went crashing down in darkness.

Michaelis. Wicked? A wicked woman?

Rhoda. I was young then, wild-hearted, pitifully ignorant. I thought that love had come to me. Girls are so eager for love. They snatch at the shadow of it.—That is what I did.—I am not trying to plead for myself.—Some things are not to be forgiven.—Somewhere in my nature there was a taint—a plague-spot.—If life is given me, I shall find it and root it out. I only ask for time to do that. But meanwhile I have done what I could. I have told you the truth. I have set you free. I have given you back your mission.

(Dr. Littlefield enters, carrying his hat and medicine case. He looks sharply at Rhoda, then turns to Michaelis. His manner towards him is politely contemptuous, toward Rhoda it is full of covert passion, modified by his habitual cynicism and satire.)

Littlefield. (To Rhoda.) Good morning. (To Michaelis.) Good morning, my friend. I understood that you sent for me, last night.

Michaelis. I did.

Littlefield. Glad to accommodate a fellow practitioner, even if he is in a side