[_CRAIG comes in, stands by the door; MARGARET has drawn ABBIE over near the stairway. He sees them, but gives no heed to them, immersed in what he is living through. While he stands there MARGARET does not move. He turns toward the room where Bernice is; when he moves MARGARET goes a little toward him--his back is to her; ABBIE moves to step between CRAIG and MARGARET; MARGARET puts her aside. But when CRAIG comes to the closed door, and stands there an instant before it, not opening it, MARGARET too stops, as if she cannot come nearer him. It is only after he has opened the door and closed it behind him that she goes to it. She puts out her hands, but she does not even touch the door and when she cannot do this she covers her face and, head bent, stands there before the closed door. LAURA and the FATHER come out from the room where they have been. As they enter ABBIE slowly goes out, toward the kitchen._ LAURA [_After looking at MARGARET, who has not moved._] We are going in an hour, Margaret. MARGARET Going? LAURA Taking Bernice to the cemetery. MARGARET Oh. Are we? [_After a look which shows her disapproval LAURA goes out, following ABBIE._ FATHER [_Sitting._] I can’t believe that, Margaret. MARGARET No. [_MARGARET sits in the window seat, by which she has been standing. As if she is just realizing what they have said._] You say--we are taking Bernice away from here--in an hour? FATHER Yes. Think of it, Margaret. I just can’t--take it in. MARGARET No. FATHER There is something I want to tell you, Margaret. [_MARGARET gives him a quick look, then turns away, as if afraid._] I’ve been wanting to tell you--but it’s hard to talk of such things. But before we--take Bernice away, before you--see her the last time--I want you to know. That night--the night Bernice died--at the very last, Abbie was afraid then--and had called to me. Abbie and I were in there and--Abbie went out, about the telephone call we had in for the doctor. I was all alone in there a few minutes--right at the last. Bernice said one last word, Margaret. Your name. MARGARET She called to me? FATHER No, I wouldn’t say she called to you. Just said your name. The way we say things to ourselves--say them without knowing we were going to say them. She didn’t really say it. She breathed it. It seemed to come from her whole life. MARGARET O-h. Then it wasn’t as if she had left me? It wasn’t as if anything was in between-- FATHER Why no, Margaret. What an idea. Why I don’t think you ever were as close to Bernice as when she said your name and died. [_MARGARET’S head goes down; she is crying. CRAIG comes out, carefully closing the door behind him. Partly crosses the room, looks uncertainly at the outer door as if to go outside again._ FATHER