Agnes. [In a low voice, rocking herself gently to and fro.] You wife—­ your wife—!

Lucas.  And the others?  What scheme is afoot now?  Why have you left me?  Why didn’t you tell me outright that I was putting you to too severe a test?  You tempted me, you led me on, to propose that I should patch up my life in that way. [She rises, with an expressionless face.] But it has had one good result.  I know now how much I depend on you.  Oh, I have had it all out with myself, pacing up and down that cursed railway station. [Laying his hand upon her arm and speaking into her ear.] I don’t deceive myself any longer.  Agnes, this is the great cause of the unhappiness I’ve experienced of late years—­I’m not fit for the fight and press of life.  I wear no armour; I am too horribly sensitive.  My skin bleeds at a touch; even flatter wounds me.  Oh, the wretchedness of it!  But you can be strong—­at your weakest, there is a certain strength in you.  With you, in time, I feel I shall grow stronger.  Only I must withdraw from the struggle for a while; you must take me out of it and let me rest—­recover breath, as it were.  Come!  Forgive me for having treated you ungratefully, almost treacherously.  Tomorrow we shall begin our search for our new home.  Agnes!

Agnes.  I have already found a home.

Lucas.  Apart from me, you mean?

Agnes.  Apart from you.

Lucas.  No, no.  You’ll not do that!

Agnes.  Lucas, this evening, two or three hours ago, you planned out the life we were to lead in the future.  We had done with “madness”, if you remember; henceforth we were to be “mere man and woman.”

Lucas.  You agreed—­

Agnes.  Then.  But we hadn’t looked at each other clearly then, as mere man and woman.  You, the man—­what are you?  You’ve confessed—­

Lucas.  I lack strength; I shall gain it.

Agnes.  Never from me—­never from me.  For what am I?  Untrue to myself, as you are untrue to yourself; false to others, as you are false to others; passionate, unstable, like yourself; like yourself, a coward.  I —­I was to lead women!  I was to show them, in your company, how laws—­ laws made and laws that are natural—­may be set aside or slighted; how men and woman may live independent and noble lives without rule, guidance or sacrament.  I was to be the example—­the figure set up for others to observe and imitate.  But the figure was made of wax—­it fell awry at the first hot breath that touched it!  You and I!  What a partnership it has been!  How base, and gross, and wicked, almost from the very beginning!  We know each other now thoroughly—­how base and wicked it would remain!  No, go your way, Lucas, and let me go mine.

Lucas.  Where—­where are you going?

Agnes.  To Ketherick—­to think. [Wringing her hands.] Ah!  I have to think, too, now, of the woman I have wronged.