MICH. Everything. I have known for many months that this must come. I have tried to palter and spare myself, but each time the conviction has returned with greater and greater force, "You must do it there, and then, and in that way." MARK. But you've repented? MICH. Most deeply. I have fasted and prayed. I have worn a hair shirt close to my skin. But my sin remains. It isn't rooted out of my heart. I can't get rid of its image. MARK. Its image? MICH. (_same calm, tranquil, matter-of-fact tone_). I believe that every sin has its exact physical image. That just as man is the expression of the thought of God, so our own thoughts and desires and aims, both good and bad, have somewhere or the other their exact material counterpart, their embodiment. The image of my sin is a reptile, a greyish-green reptile, with spikes, and cold eyes without lids. It's more horrible than any creature that was ever seen. It comes and sits in my heart and watches me with those cold eyes that never shut, and never sleep, and never pity. At first it came only very seldom; these last few months it has scarcely left me day or night, only at night it's deadlier and more distorted and weighs more upon me. It's not fancy. Mark, I know, I know, that if I do not get rid of my sin, my hell will be to have that thing sitting beside me for ever and ever, watching me with its cold eyes. But (_hopefully_) I shall be rid of it after to-morrow. MARK. My poor fellow! SIR LYOLF (_rising, coming back to MICHAEL_). Michael, can't you postpone this? Can't it be at some other time? Not in the very hour which should be the proudest and happiest of your life? MICH. There is no other hour, no other way. (_Looks at them both, takes both their hands affectionately._) Tell me (_very piteously_) that you neither of you love me the less,--or at least say that you love me a little still, after what I've told you. SIR LYOLF. Don't you know? MARK. How can you ask that? _ANDREW and ROSE appear in the transept._ MICH. (_to ANDREW_). One moment, Andrew. (_To his father._) I've a word or two to say to Andrew. SIR LYOLF. Come and stay the night with me and let us talk this over. MICH. No, I must be alone to-night. Good-night, dear Mark. (_MARK wrings his hand._) SIR LYOLF. You are resolved to go through with this? It must be? (_MICHAEL bows his head._) SIR LYOLF. I can't be here to-morrow. I couldn't face it. But (_with great affection_) I shan't be far away when you want me. (_Very warm handshake._) Come, Mr. Docwray. (_Exeunt SIR LYOLF and DOCWRAY by transept._) ANDR. (_bringing ROSE to MICHAEL_). I've brought her. (_ROSE is in an Anglican sister's dress; she is very pale and her manner is subdued. She comes slowly and reverently to MICHAEL, and is going to bend to him. He takes her hands and raises her._) MICH. No. You mustn't bend to me. I've sent for you, Rose, to ask your pardon. ROSE. My pardon? MICH. I made you pass through a terrible ordeal last year. Will you forgive me?