_Ger._ Perhaps my aunt can throw some light upon it. (COL. G. _lingers_.) That will do. (_Exit_ COL. G.) How oddly the man behaves! A sun-stroke in India, perhaps. Or he may have had a knock on the head. I must keep my eye on him. (_Stops working, steps backward, and gazes at the Psyche_.) She is growing very like some one! Who can it be? She knows she is puzzling me, the beauty! See how she is keeping back a smile! She knows if she lets one smile out, her whole face will follow it through the clay. How strange the half-lights of memory are! You know and you don't know--both at once. Like a bat in the twilight you are sure of it, and the same moment it is nowhere. Who _is_ my Psyche like?--The forehead above the eyebrow, and round by the temple? The half-playful, half-sorrowful curve of the lip? The hope in the lifted eyelid? There is more there than ever I put there. Some power has been shaping my ends. By heaven, I have it!--No--yes--it is--it is Constance--momently dawning out of the clay! What _does_ this mean? _She_ never gave me a sitting--at least, she has not done so for the last ten years--yet here she is--she, and no other! I never thought she was beautiful. When she came with my aunt the other day though, I did fancy I saw a new soul dawning through the lovely face. Here it is--the same soul breaking through the clay of my Psyche!--I will give just one touch to the corner of the mouth. _Gives a few touches, then steps back again and contemplates the figure. Turns away and walks up and down. The light darkens to slow plaintive music, which lasts for a minute. Then the morning begins to dawn, gleaming blue upon the statues and casts, and revealing_ GER. _seated before his Psyche, gazing at her. He rises, and exit. Enter_ COL. G. _and looks about_. _Col. G._ I don't know what to make of it! Or rather I'm afraid I do know what to make of it! It looks bad. He's not been in bed all night. But it shows he has some conscience left--and that's a comfort. _Enter_ Mrs. CLIFFORD, _peeping round cautiously_. _Col. G._ What, Clara! you here so early! _Mrs. C._ Well, you know, brother, you're so fond of mystery! _Col. G._ It's very kind of you to come! But we must be very careful; I can't tell when my master may be home. _Mrs. C._ Has he been out all night, then? _Col. G._ Oh no; he's just gone. _Mrs. C._ I never knew him such an early bird. I made sure he was safe in bed for a couple of hours yet. But I do trust, Walter, you have had enough of this fooling, and are prepared to act like a rational man and a gentleman. _Col. G._ On the contrary, Clara, with my usual obstinacy, I am more determined than ever that my boy shall not know me, until, as I told you, I have rendered him such service as may prove me not altogether unworthy to be his father. Twenty years of neglect will be hard to surmount.