DRAKE (_solus_, _looking at the stars_). Yes! Yes! This is no fancy, no vain imagination, no conceit of poesy—visible to sight and evident to sense. It is, it must be—The ark of promise, the greatest fact of history—The deluge, writ by God himself in his own firmament, eternal monument of wrath and justice. I never questioned sacred truth, but if I had that constellation were itself enough to anchor my soul to reason, and bid the baseless doubt begone! (_A figure appears in the air with a book under one arm_, _whilst the other points to the Constellation Argo_. _The figure is turbaned and otherwise brilliant with the hues of an oriental costume_. _His long white hair and beard float like a streamer on the deep blue of the sky_. DRAKE _starts and staggers back with uplifted hands_). Hah! Wherefore now? Is this the end? Art come to see my horoscope fulfilled? Zill-Allah! Shadow of God, Arab Astrologer, or Jew of Fez, or whatsoe’er thou art that visitest me so oft, in sleeping, aye, and in waking dreams, since first I learned the stars from thee under the clear sky of burning Africa, still as now before me. Thy beard of snow floats like a meteor, under thine arm a book, the other pointing to thy early lesson. (_The Spirit gradually disappears_—_dissolving into a brilliant white cloud which suddenly becomes dark_, _whilst the dove on the ark becomes brilliantly illumined_. _A voice says_, “_Have faith_, _look up_.” DRAKE _starting in horror looks around_). Who speaks? (_No answer_.) I do not surely dream! I heard a voice which said, “Have faith, look up.” I look, (_a pause of wonder_). Bright bird of hope, I take thy luminous omen, I will have faith. My God, the work is Thine, Thy servant in thy hand is but the staff, the wood cannot lift itself. Let it not glory, have faith. (_He falls down upon one knee_, _his face buried in his hands in deep thought_). _Enter_ JOHN DRAKE. JOHN DRAKE. My brother, did you call? You look troubled. Ah! This is the last of us. Our stirring lives are now near acted out. The first slight swell will dash our bark to pieces. DRAKE. I fear not death, how often have I braved it—I trust in him who hitherto has shaped my course. What I have seemed to do with means inadequate is evidence of power beyond me. My destiny is not my own to deal with. He who made me has the right to end me. And now I know deliverance is at hand, though human skill do nothing towards it. See you this southern vault of heaven, ’tis one great oceanic record of the past, (_he points to the Constellation Argo_.) JOHN DRAKE. You mean the Constellation Argo, the famous ship of Jason and the Golden Fleece. The dove that sits upon it! What a strange light it flashes.