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SCHWARTZE.
So! [_To_ Magda.] Learn to thank the G.o.d, in whom you disbelieve, that he has preserved your father until this hour, for he shall bring you back your honor!
MAGDA.
[_Kneeling, and kissing his hand_.] Don't do it, father! I don't deserve this of you.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Bends weeping over her head_.] My poor, poor child!
MAGDA.
[_Calling after him_.] Father!
[_Exit_ Schwartze _quickly_.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
My child, whatever happens, we women--we must hold together.
MAGDA.
Thanks, mamma. The play will soon be played out now.
HEFFTERDINGT.
My dear Mrs. Schwartze, Marie is out there, full of sorrow. Go and say a kind word to her.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What shall I say to comfort her, when all the happiness has gone out of her life? [Magda _jumps up in anguish_.] Oh, Pastor, Pastor!
[_Exit_.
MAGDA.
[_After a silence_.] Oh, I am so tired!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
[_Brooding_,] I think I shall see those glaring bloodshot eyes before me always--wherever I go.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
How you must despise me!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Ah, Miss Magda, I have long been a stranger to despite. We are all poor sinners--
MAGDA.
[_With a bitter laugh_.] Truly we are-- Oh, I am so tired!--it is crus.h.i.+ng me. There is that old man going out to let himself be shot dead for my sake, as if he could atone for all my sins with his single life! Oh, I am so tired!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda--I can only conjecture--what all this means--but you have given me the right to speak to you as a friend. And I feel that I am even more. I am your fellow-sinner, Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
Good Heavens! Still harping on that!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Do you feel the obligation, Miss Magda, to bring honor and peace back to this house?
MAGDA.
[_Breaking out in anguish_.] You have lived through the sorrow, and ask whether I feel it?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I think your father will obtain from that gentleman the declaration that he is ready for any sort of peaceable satisfaction.
MAGDA.
Ha, ha! The n.o.ble soul! But what can I do?
HEFFTERDINGT.
You can--not spurn the hand which he will offer you.
MAGDA.
What? You don't mean-- This man--this strange man whom I despise--how, how could I--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Dear Miss Magda, there comes an hour to almost every man when he collects the broken pieces of his life, to form them together into a new design. I have found it so with myself. And now it is your turn.
