MRS SCHOLZ (_rushing towards him, embraces him_). William—for my sake! WILLIAM. All right, mother! [_He goes up and down controlling himself with difficulty. At this moment the second verse begins; scarcely are the first tones heard when with sudden resolution he goes to the door of the adjoining room._ IDA. There lies he, oh children, On hay and on straw, And Joseph and Mary Look on him with awe. The honest souled shepherds Kneel praying for love; The choir of the angels Sweeps singing above. MRS SCHOLZ (_standing in his way_). William, what are you going to do? WILLIAM (_breaking out_). She sha’n’t sing any more. AUGUSTA. You must be out of your mind! WILLIAM. Let me alone. I say she shall stop. MRS SCHOLZ. Ah, but do—you really are—Well then, you won’t see me any more this evening. ROBERT. Stop, mother, let him see to it. It’s his affair. WILLIAM. Robert, don’t you go too far. Take my advice; you’ve already made one touching scene; it only leaves you more unbearable. ROBERT. Quite true; made a touching scene! That’s just what I should call it. [_William goes again towards the side room._ MRS SCHOLZ (_again restraining him_). Oh God-oh-God-oh-God! My boy, why must you stop her? [_The second verse comes to an end._ WILLIAM. Because you’re none of you worthy of it, not one of you! ROBERT (_stepping close to William with an insolently expressive look in his eyes_). You are, I suppose? MRS SCHOLZ. Oh Lord! you’re beginning again! [_The third verse begins._ The children are bringing With joy and good cheer, Milk, butter and honey To Bethlehem here; A basket of apples All yellow and red, A snowy white lambkin With flower-crowned head. WILLIAM. She _shall_ stop! MRS SCHOLZ (_once more restraining him_). My boy!!! WILLIAM. Simply beneath contempt! It is blasphemy! It is a crime against these people if we—I—yes, on my honour, I’m ashamed of you all. AUGUSTA (_piqued_). No, after all we are not so very specially bad and contemptible. WILLIAM. Aug—it makes me sick. AUGUSTA. Well, let it!—Yes, yes, of course _I’m_ to be shoved into the background; you must always find fault with your sister. Whatever _she_ does is wrong. It’s not a bit fair. But your Miss Ida— WILLIAM (_beside himself, interrupting_). Don’t dare to speak her name!! AUGUSTA. The idea! I shall talk about Ida if— WILLIAM. Leave her name out of it, I tell you. AUGUSTA. You’ve gone mad, I think. I _shall_—after all she’s not an angel from heaven. WILLIAM (_screaming at her_). Silence, I say! AUGUSTA (_turning her back_). Pah! you’re just in love! WILLIAM (_seizing her roughly by the shoulder_). You creature! I— ROBERT (_seizing William’s arm, speaks slowly, emphasising each word_). Perhaps, William, you intend again—? WILLIAM. Devil! AUGUSTA. _You_ say that—_you_, who lifted your hand against your own father!