SHUKRA. Can it be that it is over? Has Indra judged me and found me free of error? Yea, were I in error, the lightning would have struck me. I lay there blinded by rain awaiting my death. It did not come. Yea, Indra has judged! [_Noises below; he does not hear._] O, thou shadowy world, I am free of thee at last. Free of love and loving, free of all bondage. I have no earthly ties,--I lean on God alone. At last, I am bound to no earthly being, not even--[_strange pause_]--not even,--Shanta. [_He becomes conscious of the noise of approaching footsteps and the light of the torches from below._] Who is that? [_He goes forward a few steps. Enter Kanada, torch in hand._] KANADA. Master, Master. SHUKRA. Kanada, thou,--[_a pause, very brief but poignant_]. Why this agitation? Shanta, where is Shanta? KANADA. Shanta is-- SHUKRA [_seeing the other torches rising suddenly_]. Speak! Who comes hither? KANADA. They bring a dead man. SHUKRA. Who is he? [_As a premonition of the truth comes over him._] Where is Shanta? KANADA [_blurts out_]. At the foot of the hill the lightning struck him. SHUKRA [_with a terrible cry_]. Shanta,--my Shanta! [_Two men carrying torches with one hand, and dragging something white with the other, come up the steps. This vision silences Shukra. A pause follows. Another torch is seen rising behind them._] SHUKRA [_slowly_], Shanta,--gone. [_Pause again, looking into the starry heavens._] This is the Judgment of Indra! [_Curtain._] THE WORKHOUSE WARD A PLAY BY LADY GREGORY Copyright, 1909, by Lady Gregory. All rights reserved. PERSONS MICHAEL MISKELL } [_Paupers_]. MIKE MCINERNEY } MRS. DONOHOE [_a Countrywoman_]. Reprinted from "Seven Short Plays," by Lady Gregory, published by G. P. Putnam's Sons, by permission of Lady Gregory and Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons. All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in the United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the Copyright Union, by the author. Performances forbidden and right of presentation reserved. Application for the right of performing this play or reading it in public should be made to Samuel French, 28 West 38th Street, New York City, or 26 South Hampton Street, Strand, London. THE WORKHOUSE WARD A PLAY BY LADY GREGORY [SCENE: _A ward in Cloon Workhouse. The two old men in their beds_.] MICHAEL MISKELL. Isn't it a hard case, Mike McInerney, myself and yourself to be left here in the bed, and it the feast day of Saint Colman, and the rest of the ward attending on the Mass. MIKE MCINERNEY. Is it sitting up by the hearth you are wishful to be, Michael Miskell, with cold in the shoulders and with speckled shins? Let you rise up so, and you well able to do it, not like myself that has pains the same as tin-tacks within in my inside.