soul and body—that makes me love you as I do. Oh, don’t ask me to do this horrible thing. Child of my shame, be still the child of my shame! GERALD. Mother, I didn’t know you loved me so much as that. And I will be a better son to you than I have been. And you and I must never leave each other . . . but, mother . . . I can’t help it . . . you must become my father’s wife. You must marry him. It is your duty. HESTER. [_Running forwards and embracing_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.] No, no; you shall not. That would be real dishonour, the first you have ever known. That would be real disgrace: the first to touch you. Leave him and come with me. There are other countries than England . . . Oh! other countries over sea, better, wiser, and less unjust lands. The world is very wide and very big. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. No, not for me. For me the world is shrivelled to a palm’s breadth, and where I walk there are thorns. HESTER. It shall not be so. We shall somewhere find green valleys and fresh waters, and if we weep, well, we shall weep together. Have we not both loved him? GERALD. Hester! HESTER. [_Waving him back_.] Don’t, don’t! You cannot love me at all, unless you love her also. You cannot honour me, unless she’s holier to you. In her all womanhood is martyred. Not she alone, but all of us are stricken in her house. GERALD. Hester, Hester, what shall I do? HESTER. Do you respect the man who is your father? GERALD. Respect him? I despise him! He is infamous. HESTER. I thank you for saving me from him last night. GERALD. Ah, that is nothing. I would die to save you. But you don’t tell me what to do now! HESTER. Have I not thanked you for saving _me_? GERALD. But what should I do? HESTER. Ask your own heart, not mine. I never had a mother to save, or shame. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. He is hard—he is hard. Let me go away. GERALD. [_Rushes over and kneels down bedside his mother_.] Mother, forgive me: I have been to blame. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Don’t kiss my hands: they are cold. My heart is cold: something has broken it. HESTER. Ah, don’t say that. Hearts live by being wounded. Pleasure may turn a heart to stone, riches may make it callous, but sorrow—oh, sorrow cannot break it. Besides, what sorrows have you now? Why, at this moment you are more dear to him than ever, _dear_ though you have _been_, and oh! how dear you _have_ been always. Ah! be kind to him. GERALD. You are my mother and my father all in one. I need no second parent. It was for you I spoke, for you alone. Oh, say something, mother. Have I but found one love to lose another? Don’t tell me that. O mother, you are cruel. [_Gets up and flings himself sobbing on a sofa_.] MRS. ARBUTHNOT. [_To_ HESTER.] But has he found indeed another love? HESTER. You know I have loved him always. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. But we are very poor. HESTER. Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden. Let him share it with me.