_Leader of Men_. The gods that made him hero had left out The drop of meekness which preserves the rest From self-destruction. _Father Hudson_. Will he kill himself? _Leader of Men_. More than a suicide.-- A living death Takes up its habitation in his heart. _Father Hudson_. Little I understand, but greatly pity. You, who have mastered all philosophy, Can surely soothe him. _Leader of Men_. None can reach the man. He is beyond the boundaries of speech, And goes the paths of blindness. Would'st thou, O Father, see the invisible, And know what agitates your placid mind? _Father Hudson_. Show me: I can receive it. [_The following Invocation is sung by the_ Leader of the Women _in a clear contralto voice._] _Leader of Women_. Spirit of the unseen habitation, Walking distress, Blighting presence, Nemesis, Evil, Good-in-Darkness, Passing from breast to breast, Reaching easily all men, And the vine in the orchard, And the thick clusters of the grape, And the bending branches of the young peach trees, When the south wind blows death upon their pride,-- O intimate undoing! In what form walkest thou here? _Treason_. [_Without._] Who calls? _Leader of Men_. One who knows thee well enough: thou need'st not hide. [_Enter_ Treason.] _Leader of Men_. [_To_ Father Hudson.] Behold the unsleeping fiend that lives in him! His name is Treason. _Treason_. Art thou there, Benedict? _Arnold_. [_Aside._] Why not? 'Tis Fame, Reward, wealth, power, revenge and simple justice All at a clap. They'll make a Lord of me,-- Pacificator of the Colonies,-- Restorer of an erring people's love To their forgiving Sovereign. At a clap! The key to all of this is in my hand,-- West Point; and in my other hand, Sir Henry's promises,--money in sums, To weigh the unweighed treasures I have sunk For these damned ingrates. _Treason_. Art thou there, Benedict? _Arnold_. [_Still aside._] They took my all, Engulfed my freely-given wealth, paid out For their salvation; now they count the cost, File my accounts and give me promises,-- Hopes for next year. Twas not in coin like that I paid at Saratoga! _Treason_. Benedict! _Arnold._ Who art thou, spirit of the inner world? I cannot see thee. _Treason_. And yet you called me. _Arnold_. No, I called thee not. I called to mind My bullet-shattered thigh, and the hot thirst Of fever. Did not Washington himself Send me the sword-knots he received from France, And Congress vote a horse caparisoned To bear me proudly? _Treason_. Ay; they kept back that Which all out-weighed the rest. _Arnold_. My rank! My rank! Five brigadiers promoted over me! _Treason_. They paid with compliment. _Arnold_. A soldier's rank Is, as his guiding genius in the sky, A holy thing. That rank which I had earned They gave to striplings.