Mrs George [a faint convulsion passing like a wave over her] I know more than either of you.  One of you has not yet exhausted his first love:  the other has not yet reached it.  But I—­I—­[she reels and is again convulsed].

The bishop [saving her from falling] Whats the matter?  Are you ill, Mrs Collins? [He gets her back into her chair].  Soames:  theres a glass of water in the study—­quick. [Soames hurries to the study door.]

Mrs. George.  No. [Soames stops].  Dont call.  Dont bring anyone.  Cant you hear anything?

The bishop.  Nothing unusual. [He sits by her, watching her with intense surprise and interest].

Mrs George.  No music?

Soames.  No. [He steals to the end of the table and sits on her right, equally interested].

Mrs George.  Do you see nothing—­not a great light?

The bishop.  We are still walking in darkness.

Mrs George.  Put your hand on my forehead:  the hand with the ring. [He does so.  Her eyes close].

Soames [inspired to prophesy] There was a certain woman, the wife of a coal merchant, which had been a great sinner . . .

The Bishop, startled, takes his hand away.  Mrs George’s eyes open vividly as she interrupts Soames.

Mrs George.  You prophesy falsely, Anthony:  never in all my life have I done anything that was not ordained for me. [More quietly] Ive been myself.  Ive not been afraid of myself.  And at last I have escaped from myself, and am become a voice for them that are afraid to speak, and a cry for the hearts that break in silence.

Soames [whispering] Is she inspired?

The bishop.  Marvellous.  Hush.

Mrs George.  I have earned the right to speak.  I have dared:  I have gone through:  I have not fallen withered in the fire:  I have come at last out beyond, to the back of Godspeed?

The bishop.  And what do you see there, at the back of Godspeed?

Soames [hungrily] Give us your message.

Mrs George [with intensely sad reproach] When you loved me I gave you the whole sun and stars to play with.  I gave you eternity in a single moment, strength of the mountains in one clasp of your arms, and the volume of all the seas in one impulse of your souls.  A moment only; but was it not enough?  Were you not paid then for all the rest of your struggle on earth?  Must I mend your clothes and sweep your floors as well?  Was it not enough?  I paid the price without bargaining:  I bore the children without flinching:  was that a reason for heaping fresh burdens on me?  I carried the child in my arms:  must I carry the father too?  When I opened the gates of paradise, were you blind? was it nothing to you?  When all the stars sang