Chapter VI: Act THREE: Scene One

_Same as Act Two, Scene One--The sitting room of the farm house about six o’clock in the morning of a day toward the end of October five years later. It is not yet dawn, but as the action progresses the darkness outside the windows gradually fades to gray._

_The room, seen by the light of the shadeless oil lamp with a smoky chimney which stands on the table, presents an appearance of decay, of dissolution. The curtains at the windows are torn and dirty and one of them is missing. The closed desk is gray with accumulated dust as if it had not been used in years. Blotches of dampness disfigure the wall paper. Threadbare trails, leading to the kitchen and outer doors, show in the faded carpet. The top of the coverless table is stained with the imprints of hot dishes and spilt food. The rung of one rocker has been clumsily mended with a piece of plain board. A brown coating of rust covers the unblacked stove. A pile of wood is stacked up carelessly against the wall by the stove._

_The whole atmosphere of the room, contrasted with that of former years, is one of an habitual poverty too hopelessly resigned to be any longer ashamed or even conscious of itself._

_At the rise of the curtain_ RUTH _is discovered sitting by the stove, with hands outstretched to the warmth as if the air in the room were damp and cold. A heavy shawl is wrapped about her shoulders, half-concealing her dress of deep mourning. She has aged horribly. Her pale, deeply lined face has the stony lack of expression of one to whom nothing more can ever happen, whose capacity for emotion has been exhausted. When she speaks her voice is without timbre, low and monotonous. The negligent disorder of her dress, the slovenly arrangement of her hair, now streaked with gray, her muddied shoes run down at the heel, give full evidence of the apathy in which she lives._

_Her mother is asleep in her wheel chair beside the stove toward the rear, wrapped up in a blanket._

_There is a sound from the open bedroom door in the rear as if someone were getting out of bed._ RUTH _turns in that direction, with a look of dull annoyance. A moment later_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway, leaning weakly against it for support. His hair is long and unkempt, his face and body emaciated. There are bright patches of crimson over his check bones and his eyes are burning with fever. He is dressed in corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and wears worn carpet slippers on his bare feet._

RUTH. (_dully_) S-s-s-h-! Ma’s asleep.

ROBERT. (_speaking with an effort_) I won’t wake her. (_He walks weakly to a rocker by the side of the table and sinks down in it exhausted_).

RUTH. (_staring at the stove_) You better come near the fire where it’s warm.

ROBERT. No. I’m burning up now.

RUTH. That’s the fever. You know the doctor told you not to get up and move round.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) That old fossil! He doesn’t know anything. Go to bed and stay there--that’s his only prescription.

RUTH. (_indifferently_) How are you feeling now?

ROBERT. (_buoyantly_) Better! Much better than I’ve felt in ages. Really I’m fine now--only very weak. It’s the turning point, I guess. From now on I’ll pick up so quick I’ll surprise you--and no thanks to that old fool of a country quack, either.

RUTH. He’s always tended to us.

ROBERT. Always helped us to die, you mean! He “tended” to Pa and Ma and--(_his voice breaks_)--and to--Mary.

RUTH. (_dully_) He did the best he knew, I s’pose. (_After a pause_) Well, Andy’s bringing a specialist with him when he comes. That ought to suit you.

ROBERT. (_bitterly_) Is that why you’re waiting up all night?

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. For Andy?

RUTH. (_without a trace of feeling_) Somebody had got to. It’s only right for someone to meet him after he’s been gone five years.

ROBERT. (_with bitter mockery_) Five years! It’s a long time.

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. (_meaningly_) To _wait_!

RUTH. (_indifferently_) It’s past now.

ROBERT. Yes, it’s past. (_After a pause_) Have you got his two telegrams with you? (RUTH _nods_) Let me see them, will you? My head was so full of fever when they came I couldn’t make head or tail to them. (_Hastily_) But I’m feeling fine now. Let me read them again. (RUTH _takes them from the bosom of her dress and hands them to him_).

RUTH. Here. The first one’s on top.

ROBERT. (_opening it_) New York. “Just landed from steamer. Have important business to wind up here. Will be home as soon as deal is completed.” (_He smiles bitterly_) Business first was always Andy’s motto (_He reads_) “Hope you are all well. Andy.” (_He repeats ironically_) “Hope you are all well!”

RUTH. (_dully_) He couldn’t know you’d been took sick till I answered that and told him.

ROBERT. (_contritely_) Of course he couldn’t. I’m a fool. I’m touchy about nothing lately. Just what did you say in your reply?

RUTH. (_inconsequentially_) I had to send it collect.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) What did you say was the matter with me?

RUTH. I wrote you had lung trouble.

ROBERT. (_flying into a petty temper_) You _are_ a fool! How often have I explained to you that it’s _pleurisy_ is the matter with me. You can’t seem to get it in your head that the pleura is outside the lungs, not in them!

RUTH. (_callously_) I only wrote what Doctor Smith told me.

ROBERT. (_angrily_) He’s a damned ignoramus!

RUTH. (_dully_) Makes no difference. I had to tell Andy something, didn’t I?

ROBERT. (_after a pause, opening the other telegram_) He sent this last evening. Let’s see. (_He reads_) “Leave for home on midnight train. Just received your wire. Am bringing specialist to see Rob. Will motor to farm from Port.” (_He calculates_) What time is it now?

RUTH. Round six, must be.

ROBERT. He ought to be here soon. I’m glad he’s bringing a doctor who knows something. A specialist will tell you in a second that there’s nothing the matter with my lungs.

RUTH. (_stolidly_) You’ve been coughing an awful lot lately.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) What nonsense! For God’s sake, haven’t you ever had a bad cold yourself? (RUTH _stares at the stove in silence_. ROBERT _fidgets in his chair. There is a pause. Finally_ ROBERT’S _eyes are fixed on the sleeping_ MRS. ATKINS) Your mother is lucky to be able to sleep so soundly.

RUTH. Ma’s tired. She’s been sitting up with me most of the night.

ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Is she waiting for Andy, too? (_There is a pause._ ROBERT _sighs_) I couldn’t get to sleep to save my soul. I counted ten million sheep if I counted one. No use! I gave up trying finally and just laid there in the dark thinking. (_He pauses, then continues in a tone of tender sympathy_) I was thinking about you, Ruth--of how hard these last years must have been for you. (_Appealingly_) I’m sorry, Ruth.

RUTH. (_in a dead voice_) I don’t know. They’re past now. They were hard on all of us.

ROBERT. Yes; on all of us but Andy. (_With a flash of sick jealousy_) Andy’s made a big success of himself--the kind he wanted. (_Mockingly_) And now he’s coming home to let us admire his greatness. (_Frowning--irritably_) What am I talking about? My brain must be sick, too. (_After a pause_) Yes, these years have been terrible for both of us. (_His voice is lowered to a trembling whisper_) Especially the last eight months since Mary--died. (_He forces back a sob with a convulsive shudder--then breaks out in a passionate agony_) Our last hope of happiness! I could curse God from the bottom of my soul--if there was a God! (_He is racked by a violent fit of coughing and hurriedly puts his handkerchief to his lips_).

RUTH. (_without looking at him_) Mary’s better off--being dead.

ROBERT. (_gloomily_) We’d all be better off for that matter. (_With a sudden exasperation_) You tell that mother of yours she’s got to stop saying that Mary’s death was due to a weak constitution inherited from me. (_On the verge of tears of weakness_) It’s got to stop, I tell you!

RUTH. (_sharply_) S-h-h! You’ll wake her; and then she’ll nag at me--not you.

ROBERT. (_coughs and lies back in his chair weakly--a pause_) It’s all because your mother’s down on me for not begging Andy for help.

RUTH. (_resentfully_) You might have. He’s got plenty.

ROBERT. How can _you_ of all people think of taking money from _him_?

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t see the harm. He’s your own brother.

ROBERT. (_shrugging his shoulders_) What’s the use of talking to you? Well, _I_ couldn’t. (_Proudly_) And I’ve managed to keep things going, thank God. You can’t deny that without help I’ve succeeded in---- (_He breaks off with a bitter laugh_) My God, what am I boasting of? Debts to this one and that, taxes, interest unpaid! I’m a fool! (_He lies back in his chair closing his eyes for a moment, then speaks in a low voice_) I’ll be frank, Ruth. I’ve been an utter failure, and I’ve dragged you with me. I couldn’t blame you in all justice--for hating me.

RUTH. (_without feeling_) I don’t hate you. It’s been my fault too, I s’pose.

ROBERT. No. You couldn’t help loving--Andy.

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t love anyone.

ROBERT. (_waving her remark aside_) You needn’t deny it. It doesn’t matter. (_After a pause--with a tender smile_) Do you know Ruth, what I’ve been dreaming back there in the dark? (_With a short laugh_) I was planning our future when I get well. (_He looks at her with appealing eyes as if afraid she will sneer at him. Her expression does not change. She stares at the stove. His voice takes on a note of eagerness_) After all, why shouldn’t we have a future? We’re young yet. If we can only shake off the curse of this farm! It’s the farm that’s ruined our lives, damn it! And now that Andy’s coming back--I’m going to sink my foolish pride, Ruth! I’ll borrow the money from him to give us a good start in the city. We’ll go where people live instead of stagnating, and start all over again. (_Confidently_) I won’t be the failure there that I’ve been here, Ruth. You won’t need to be ashamed of me there. I’ll prove to you the reading I’ve done can be put to some use. (_Vaguely_) I’ll write, or something of that sort. I’ve always wanted to write. (_Pleadingly_) You’ll want to do that, won’t you, Ruth?

RUTH. (_dully_) There’s Ma.

ROBERT. She can come with us.

RUTH. She wouldn’t.

ROBERT. (_angrily_) So that’s your answer! (_He trembles with violent passion. His voice is so strange that_ RUTH _turns to look at him in alarm_) You’re lying, Ruth! Your mother’s just an excuse. You want to stay here. You think that because Andy’s coming back that---- (_He chokes and has an attack of coughing_).

RUTH. (_getting up--in a frightened voice_) What’s the matter? (_She goes to him_) I’ll go with you, Rob. Stop that coughing for goodness’ sake! It’s awful bad for you. (_She soothes him in dull tones_) I’ll go with you to the city--soon’s you’re well again. Honest I will, Rob, I promise! (ROB _lies back and closes his eyes. She stands looking down at him anxiously_) Do you feel better now?

ROBERT. Yes. (RUTH _goes back to her chair. After a pause he opens his eyes and sits up in his chair. His face is flushed and happy_) Then you _will_ go, Ruth?

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. (_excitedly_) We’ll make a new start, Ruth--just you and I. Life owes us some happiness after what we’ve been through. (_Vehemently_) It must! Otherwise our suffering would be meaningless--and that is unthinkable.

RUTH. (_worried by his excitement_) Yes, yes, of course, Rob, but you mustn’t----

ROBERT. Oh, don’t be afraid. I feel completely well, really I do--now that I can hope again. Oh if you knew how glorious it feels to have something to look forward to! Can’t you feel the thrill of it, too--the vision of a new life opening up after all the horrible years?

RUTH. Yes, yes, but do be----

ROBERT. Nonsense! I won’t be careful. I’m getting back all my strength. (_He gets lightly to his feet_) See! I feel light as a feather. (_He walks to her chair and bends down to kiss her smilingly_) One kiss--the first in years, isn’t it?--to greet the dawn of a new life together.

RUTH. (_submitting to his kiss--worriedly_) Sit down, Rob, for goodness’ sake!

ROBERT. (_with tender obstinacy--stroking her hair_) I won’t sit down. You’re silly to worry. (_He rests one hand on the back of her chair_) Listen. All our suffering has been a test through which we had to pass to prove ourselves worthy of a finer realization. (_Exultingly_) And we did pass through it! It hasn’t broken us! And now the dream is to come true! Don’t you see?

RUTH. (_looking at him with frightened eyes as if she thought he had gone mad_) Yes, Rob, I see; but won’t you go back to bed now and rest?

ROBERT. No. I’m going to see the sun rise. It’s an augury of good fortune. (_He goes quickly to the window in the rear left, and pushing the curtains aside, stands looking out._ RUTH _springs to her feet and comes quickly to the table, left, where she remains watching_ ROBERT _in a tense, expectant attitude. As he peers out his body seems gradually to sag, to grow limp and tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks_) No sun yet. It isn’t time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills outlined against a creeping grayness. (_He turns around; letting the curtains fall back, stretching a hand out to the wall to support himself. His false strength of a moment has evaporated, leaving his face drawn and hollow-eyed. He makes a pitiful attempt to smile_) That’s not a very happy augury, is it? But the sun’ll come--soon. (_He sways weakly_).

RUTH. (_hurrying to his side and supporting him_) Please go to bed, won’t you, Rob? You don’t want to be all wore out when the specialist comes, do you?

ROBERT. (_quickly_) No. That’s right. He mustn’t think I’m sicker than I am. And I feel as if I could sleep now--(_Cheerfully_)--a good, sound, restful sleep.

RUTH. (_helping him to the bedroom door_) That’s what you need most. (_They go inside. A moment later she reappears calling back_) I’ll shut this door so’s you’ll be quiet. (_She closes the door and goes quickly to her mother and shakes her by the shoulder_) Ma! Ma! Wake up!

MRS. ATKINS. (_coming out of her sleep with a start_) Glory be! What’s the matter with you?

RUTH. It was Rob. He’s just been talking to me out here. I put him back to bed. (_Now that she is sure her mother is awake her fear passes and she relapses into dull indifference. She sits down in her chair and stares at the stove--dully_) He acted--funny; and his eyes looked so--so wild like.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with asperity_) And is that all you woke me out of a sound sleep for, and scared me near out of my wits?

RUTH. I was afraid. He talked so crazy. I couldn’t quiet him. I didn’t want to be alone with him that way. Lord knows what he might do.

MRS. ATKINS. (_scornfully_) Humph! A help I’d be to you and me not able to move a step! Why didn’t you run and get Jake?

RUTH. (_dully_) Jake isn’t here. He quit last night. He hasn’t been paid in three months.

MRS. ATKINS. (_indignantly_) I can’t blame him. What decent person’d want to work on a place like this? (_With sudden exasperation_) Oh, I wish you’d never married that man!

RUTH. (_wearily_) You oughtn’t to talk about him now when he’s sick in his bed.

MRS. ATKINS. (_working herself into a fit of rage_) You know very well, Ruth Mayo, if it wasn’t for me helpin’ you on the sly out of my savin’s, you’d both been in the poor house--and all ’count of his pigheaded pride in not lettin’ Andy know the state thin’s were in. A nice thin’ for me to have to support him out of what I’d saved for my last days--and me an invalid with no one to look to!

RUTH. Andy’ll pay you back, Ma. I can tell him so’s Rob’ll never know.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with a snort_) What’d Rob think you and him was livin’ on, _I_’d like to know?

RUTH. (_dully_) He didn’t think about it, I s’pose. (_After a slight pause_) He said he’d made up his mind to ask Andy for help when he comes. (_As a clock in the kitchen strikes six_) Six o’clock. Andy ought to get here directly.

MRS. ATKINS. D’you think this special doctor’ll do Rob any good?

RUTH. (_hopelessly_) I don’t know. (_The two women remain silent for a time staring dejectedly at the stove_).

MRS. ATKINS. (_shivering irritably_) For goodness’ sake put some wood on that fire. I’m most freezin’!

RUTH. (_pointing to the door in the rear_) Don’t talk so loud. Let him sleep if he can. (_She gets wearily from the chair and puts a few pieces of wood in the stove_) This is the last of the wood. I don’t know who’ll cut more now that Jake’s left. (_She sighs and walks to the window in the rear, left, pulls the curtains aside, and looks out_) It’s getting gray out. (_She comes back to the stove_) Looks like it’d be a nice day. (_She stretches out her hands to warm them_) Must’ve been a heavy frost last night. We’re paying for the spell of warm weather we’ve been having. (_The throbbing whine of a motor sounds from the distance outside_).

MRS. ATKINS. (_sharply_) S-h-h! Listen! Ain’t that an auto I hear?

RUTH. (_without interest_) Yes. It’s Andy, I s’pose.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with nervous irritation_) Don’t sit there like a silly goose. Look at the state of this room! What’ll this strange doctor think of us? Look at that lamp chimney all smoke! Gracious sakes, Ruth----

RUTH. (_indifferently_) I’ve got a lamp all cleaned up in the kitchen.

MRS. ATKINS. (_peremptorily_) Wheel me in there this minute. I don’t want him to see me looking a sight. I’ll lay down in the room the other side. You don’t need me now and I’m dead for sleep. (RUTH _wheels her mother off right. The noise of the motor grows louder and finally ceases as the car stops on the road before the farmhouse._ RUTH _returns from the kitchen with a lighted lamp in her hand which she sets on the table beside the other. The sound of footsteps on the path is heard--then a sharp rap on the door._ RUTH _goes and opens it._ ANDREW _enters, followed by_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _carrying a small black bag._ ANDREW _has changed greatly. His face seems to have grown highstrung, hardened by the look of decisiveness which comes from being constantly under a strain where judgments on the spur of the moment are compelled to be accurate. His eyes are keener and more alert. There is even a suggestion of ruthless cunning about them. At present, however, his expression is one of tense anxiety._ DOCTOR FAWCETT _is a short, dark, middle-aged man with a Vandyke beard. He wears glasses_).

RUTH. Hello, Andy! I’ve been waiting----

ANDREW. (_kissing her hastily_) I got here as soon as I could. (_He throws of his cap and heavy overcoat on the table, introducing_ RUTH _and the_ DOCTOR _as he does so. He is dressed in an expensive business suit and appears stouter_) My sister-in-law, Mrs. Mayo--Doctor Fawcett. (_They bow to each other silently._ ANDREW _casts a quick glance about the room_) Where’s Rob?

RUTH. (_pointing_) In there.

ANDREW. I’ll take your coat and hat, Doctor. (_As he helps the_ DOCTOR _with his things_) Is he very bad, Ruth?

RUTH. (_dully_) He’s been getting weaker.

ANDREW. Damn! This way, Doctor. Bring the lamp, Ruth. (_He goes into the bedroom, followed by the_ DOCTOR _and_ RUTH _carrying the clean lamp_. RUTH _reappears almost immediately closing the door behind her, and goes slowly to the outside door, which she opens, and stands in the doorway looking out. The sound of_ ANDREW’S _and_ ROBERT’S _voices comes from the bedroom. A moment later_ ANDREW _re-enters, closing the door softly. He comes forward and sinks down in the rocker on the right of table, leaning his head on his hand. His face is drawn in a shocked expression of great grief. He sighs heavily, staring mournfully in front of him._ RUTH _turns and stands watching him. Then she shuts the door and returns to her chair by the stove, turning it so she can face him_).

ANDREW. (_glancing up quickly--in a harsh voice_) How long has this been going on?

RUTH. You mean--how long has he been sick?

ANDREW. (_shortly_) Of course! What else?

RUTH. It was last summer he had a bad spell first, but he’s been ailin’ ever since Mary died--eight months ago.

ANDREW. (_harshly_) Why didn’t you let me know--cable me? Do you want him to die, all of you? I’m damned if it doesn’t look that way! (_His voice breaking_) Poor old chap! To be sick in this out-of-the-way hole without anyone to attend to him but a country quack! It’s a damned shame!

RUTH. (_dully_) I wanted to send you word once, but he only got mad when I told him. He was too proud to ask anything, he said.

ANDREW. Proud? To ask _me_? (_He jumps to his feet and paces nervously back and forth_) I can’t understand the way you’ve acted. Didn’t you see how sick he was getting? Couldn’t you realize--why, I nearly dropped in my tracks when I saw him! He looks--(_He shudders_)--terrible! (_With fierce scorn_) I suppose you’re so used to the idea of his being delicate that you took his sickness as a matter of course. God, if I’d only known!

RUTH. (_without emotion_) A letter takes so long to get where you were--and we couldn’t afford to telegraph. We owed everyone already, and I couldn’t ask Ma. She’d been giving me money out of her savings till she hadn’t much left. Don’t say anything to Rob about it. I never told him. He’d only be mad at me if he knew. But I had to, because--God knows how we’d have got on if I hadn’t.

ANDREW. You mean to say---- (_His eyes seem to take in the poverty-stricken appearance of the room for the first time_) You sent that telegram to me collect. Was it because---- (RUTH _nods silently._ ANDREW _pounds on the table with his fist_) Good God! And all this time I’ve been--why I’ve had everything! (_He sits down in his chair and pulls it close to_ RUTH’S--_impulsively_) But--I can’t get it through my head. Why? Why? What has happened? How did it ever come about? Tell me!

RUTH. (_dully_) There’s nothing much to tell. Things kept getting worse, that’s all--and Rob didn’t seem to care. He never took any interest since way back when your Ma died. After that he got men to take charge, and they nearly all cheated him--he couldn’t tell--and left one after another. Then after Mary died he didn’t pay no heed to anything any more--just stayed indoors and took to reading books again. So I had to ask Ma if she wouldn’t help us some.

ANDREW. (_surprised and horrified_) Why, damn it, this is frightful! Rob must be mad not to have let me know. Too proud to ask help of _me_! What’s the matter with him in God’s name? (_A sudden, horrible suspicion entering his mind_) Ruth! Tell me the truth. His mind hasn’t gone back on him, has it?

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t know. Mary’s dying broke him up terrible--but he’s used to her being gone by this, I s’pose.

ANDREW. (_looking at her queerly_) Do you mean to say _you’re_ used to it?

RUTH. (_in a dead tone_) There’s a time comes--when you don’t mind any more--anything.

ANDREW. (_looks at her fixedly for a moment--with great pity_) I’m sorry, Ruth--if I seemed to blame you. I didn’t realize---- The sight of Rob lying in bed there, so gone to pieces--it made me furious at everyone. Forgive me, Ruth.

RUTH. There’s nothing to forgive. It doesn’t matter.

ANDREW. (_springing to his feet again and pacing up and down_) Thank God I came back before it was too late. This doctor will know exactly what to do. That’s the first thing to think of. When Rob’s on his feet again we can get the farm working on a sound basis once more. I’ll see to that--before I leave.

RUTH. You’re going away again?

ANDREW. I’ve got to.

RUTH. You wrote Rob you was coming back to stay this time.

ANDREW. I expected to--until I got to New York. Then I learned certain facts that make it necessary. (_With a short laugh_) To be candid, Ruth, I’m not the rich man you’ve probably been led to believe by my letters--not now. I was when I wrote them. I made money hand over fist as long as I stuck to legitimate trading; but I wasn’t content with that. I wanted it to come easier, so like all the rest of the idiots, I tried speculation. Oh, I won all right! Several times I’ve been almost a millionaire--on paper--and then come down to earth again with a bump. Finally the strain was too much. I got disgusted with myself and made up my mind to get out and come home and forget it and really live again. (_He gives a harsh laugh_) And now comes the funny part. The day before the steamer sailed I saw what I thought was a chance to become a millionaire again. (_He snaps his fingers_) That easy! I plunged. Then, before things broke, I left--I was so confident I couldn’t be wrong. But when I landed in New York--I wired you I had business to wind up, didn’t I? Well, it was the business that wound me up! (_He smiles grimly, pacing up and down, his hands in his pockets_).

RUTH. (_dully_) You found--you’d lost everything?

ANDREW. (_sitting down again_) Practically. (_He takes a cigar from his pocket, bites the end off, and lights it_) Oh, I don’t mean I’m dead broke. I’ve saved ten thousand from the wreckage, maybe twenty. But that’s a poor showing for five years’ hard work. That’s why I’ll have to go back. (_Confidently_) I can make it up in a year or so down there--and I don’t need but a shoestring to start with. (_A weary expression comes over his face and he sighs heavily_) I wish I didn’t have to. I’m sick of it all.

RUTH. It’s too bad--things seem to go wrong so.

ANDREW. (_shaking off his depression--briskly_) They might be much worse. There’s enough left to fix the farm O. K. before I go. I won’t leave ’til Rob’s on his feet again. In the meantime I’ll make things fly around here. (_With satisfaction_) I need a rest, and the kind of rest I need is hard work in the open--just like I used to do in the old days. (_Stopping abruptly and lowering his voice cautiously_) Not a word to Rob about my losing money! Remember that, Ruth! You can see why. If he’s grown so touchy he’d never accept a cent if he thought I was hard up; see?

RUTH. Yes, Andy. (_After a pause, during which_ ANDREW _puffs at his cigar abstractedly, his mind evidently busy with plans for the future, the bedroom door is opened and_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _enters, carrying a bag. He closes the door quietly behind him and comes forward, a grave expression on his face._ ANDREW _springs out of his chair_).

ANDREW. Ah, Doctor! (_He pushes a chair between his own and_ RUTH’S) Won’t you have a chair?

FAWCETT. (_glancing at his watch_) I must catch the nine o’clock back to the city. It’s imperative. I have only a moment. (_Sitting down and clearing his throat--in a perfunctory, impersonal voice_) The case of your brother, Mr. Mayo, is---- (_He stops and glances at_ RUTH _and says meaningly to_ ANDREW) Perhaps it would be better if you and I----

RUTH. (_with dogged resentment_) I know what you mean, Doctor. (_Dully_) Don’t be afraid I can’t stand it. I’m used to bearing trouble by this; and I can guess what you’ve found out. (_She hesitates for a moment--then continues in a monotonous voice_) Rob’s going to die.

ANDREW. (_angrily_) Ruth!

FAWCETT. (_raising his hand as if to command silence_) I am afraid my diagnosis of your brother’s condition forces me to the same conclusion as Mrs. Mayo’s.

ANDREW. (_groaning_) But, Doctor, surely----

FAWCETT. (_calmly_) Your brother hasn’t long to live--perhaps a few days, perhaps only a few hours. It’s a marvel that he’s alive at this moment. My examination revealed that both of his lungs are terribly affected.

ANDREW. (_brokenly_) Good God! (RUTH _keeps her eyes fixed on her lap in a trance-like stare_).

FAWCETT. I am sorry I have to tell you this. If there was anything that could be done----

ANDREW. There isn’t anything?

FAWCETT. (_shaking his head_) It’s too late. Six months ago there might have----

ANDREW. (_in anguish_) But if we were to take him to the mountains--or to Arizona--or----

FAWCETT. That might have prolonged his life six months ago. (ANDREW _groans_) But now---- (_He shrugs his shoulders significantly_).

ANDREW. (_appalled by a sudden thought_) Good heavens, you haven’t told him this, have you, Doctor?

FAWCETT. No. I lied to him. I said a change of climate---- (_He looks at his watch again nervously_) I must leave you. (_He gets up_).

ANDREW. (_getting to his feet--insistently_) But there must still be some chance----

FAWCETT. (_as if he were reassuring a child_) There is always that last chance--the miracle. (_He puts on his hat and coat--bowing to_ RUTH) Good-by, Mrs. Mayo.

RUTH. (_without raising her eyes--dully_) Good-by.

ANDREW. (_mechanically_) I’ll walk to the car with you, Doctor. (_They go out of the door._ RUTH _sits motionlessly. The motor is heard starting and the noise gradually recedes into the distance._ ANDREW _re-enters and sits down in his chair, holding his head in his hands_) Ruth! (_She lifts her eyes to his_) Hadn’t we better go in and see him? God! I’m afraid to! I know he’ll read it in my face. (_The bedroom door is noiselessly opened and_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway. His cheeks are flushed with fever, and his eyes appear unusually large and brilliant._ ANDREW _continues with a groan_) It can’t be, Ruth. It can’t be as hopeless as he said. There’s always a fighting chance. We’ll take Rob to Arizona. He’s _got_ to get well. There _must_ be a chance!

ROBERT. (_in a gentle tone_) Why must there, Andy? (RUTH _turns and stares at him with terrified eyes_).

ANDREW. (_whirling around_) Rob! (_Scoldingly_) What are you doing out of bed? (_He gets up and goes to him_) Get right back now and obey the Doc, or you’re going to get a licking from me!

ROBERT. (_ignoring these remarks_) Help me over to the chair, please, Andy.

ANDREW. Like hell I will! You’re going right back to bed, that’s where you’re going, and stay there! (_He takes hold of_ ROBERT’S _arm_).

ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Stay there ’til I die, eh, Andy? (_Coldly_) Don’t behave like a child. I’m sick of lying down. I’ll be more rested sitting up. (_As_ ANDREW _hesitates--violently_) I swear I’ll get out of bed every time you put me there. You’ll have to sit on my chest, and that wouldn’t help my health any. Come on, Andy. Don’t play the fool. I want to talk to you, and I’m going to. (_With a grim smile_) A dying man has some rights, hasn’t he?

ANDREW. (_with a shudder_) Don’t talk that way, for God’s sake! I’ll only let you sit down if you’ll promise that. Remember. (_He helps_ ROBERT _to the chair between his own and_ RUTH’S) Easy now! There you are! Wait, and I’ll get a pillow for you. (_He goes into the bedroom._ ROBERT _looks at_ RUTH _who shrinks away from him in terror_. ROBERT _smiles bitterly_. ANDREW _comes back with the pillow which he places behind_ ROBERT’S _back_) How’s that?

ROBERT. (_with an affectionate smile_) Fine! Thank you! (_As_ ANDREW _sits down_) Listen, Andy. You’ve asked me not to talk--and I won’t after I’ve made my position clear. (_Slowly_) In the first place I know I’m dying. (RUTH _bows her head and covers her face with her hands. She remains like this all during the scene between the two brothers_).

ANDREW. Rob! That isn’t so!

ROBERT. (_wearily_) It _is_ so! Don’t lie to me. After Ruth put me to bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the first time. (_Bitterly_) I’d been making plans for our future--Ruth’s and mine--so it came hard at first--the realization. Then when the doctor examined me, I knew--although he tried to lie about it. And then to make sure I listened at the door to what he told you. So don’t mock me with fairy tales about Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I’m dying is no reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. Now that I’m sure what’s happening I can say Kismet to it with all my heart. It was only the silly uncertainty that hurt. (_There is a pause._ ANDREW _looks around in impotent anguish, not knowing what to say_. ROBERT _regards him with an affectionate smile_).

ANDREW. (_finally blurts out_) It isn’t foolish. You _have_ got a chance. If you heard all the Doctor said that ought to prove it to you.

ROBERT. Oh, you mean when he spoke of the miracle? (_Dryly_) I don’t believe in miracles--in my case. Besides, I know more than any doctor on earth _could_ know--because I _feel_ what’s coming. (_Dismissing the subject_) But we’ve agreed not to talk of it. Tell me about yourself, Andy. That’s what I’m interested in. Your letters were too brief and far apart to be illuminating.

ANDREW. I meant to write oftener.

ROBERT. (_with a faint trace of irony_) I judge from them you’ve accomplished all you set out to do five years ago?

ANDREW. That isn’t much to boast of.

ROBERT. (_surprised_) Have you really, honestly reached that conclusion?

ANDREW. Well, it doesn’t seem to amount to much now.

ROBERT. But you’re rich, aren’t you?

ANDREW. (_with a quick glance at_ RUTH) Yes, I s’pose so.

ROBERT. I’m glad. You can do to the farm all I’ve undone. But what did you do down there? Tell me. You went in the grain business with that friend of yours?

ANDREW. Yes. After two years I had a share in it. I sold out last year. (_He is answering_ ROBERT’S _questions with great reluctance_).

ROBERT. And then?

ANDREW. I went in on my own.

ROBERT. Still in grain?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. What’s the matter? You look as if I were accusing you of something.

ANDREW. I’m proud enough of the first four years. It’s after that I’m not boasting of. I took to speculating.

ROBERT. In wheat?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. And you made money--gambling?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. (_thoughtfully_) I’ve been wondering what the great change was in you. (_After a pause_) You--a farmer--to gamble in a wheat pit with scraps of paper. There’s a spiritual significance in that picture, Andy. (_He smiles bitterly_) I’m a failure, and Ruth’s another--but we can both justly lay some of the blame for our stumbling on God. But you’re the deepest-dyed failure of the three, Andy. You’ve spent eight years running away from yourself. Do you see what I mean? You used to be a creator when you loved the farm. You and life were in harmonious partnership. And now---- (_He stops as if seeking vainly for words_) My brain is muddled. But part of what I mean is that your gambling with the thing you used to love to create proves how far astray---- So you’ll be punished. You’ll have to suffer to win back---- (_His voice grows weaker and he sighs wearily_) It’s no use. I can’t say it. (_He lies back and closes his eyes, breathing pantingly_).

ANDREW. (_slowly_) I think I know what you’re driving at, Rob--and it’s true, I guess. (ROBERT _smiles gratefully and stretches out his hand, which_ ANDREW _takes in his_).

ROBERT. I want you to promise me to do one thing, Andy, after----

ANDREW. I’ll promise anything, as God is my Judge!

ROBERT. Remember, Andy, Ruth has suffered double her share. (_His voice faltering with weakness_) Only through contact with suffering, Andy, will you--awaken. Listen. You must marry Ruth--afterwards.

RUTH. (_with a cry_) Rob! (ROBERT _lies back, his eyes closed, gasping heavily for breath_).

ANDREW. (_making signs to her to humor him--gently_) You’re tired out, Rob. You better lie down and rest a while, don’t you think? We can talk later on.

ROBERT. (_with a mocking smile_) Later on! You always were an optimist, Andy! (_He sighs with exhaustion_) Yes, I’ll go and rest a while. (_As_ ANDREW _comes to help him_) It must be near sunrise, isn’t it?

ANDREW. It’s after six.

ROBERT. (_As_ ANDREW _helps him into the bedroom_) Shut the door, Andy. I want to be alone. (ANDREW _reappears and shuts the door softly. He comes and sits down on his chair again, supporting his head on his hands. His face is drawn with the intensity of his dry-eyed anguish_).

RUTH. (_glancing at him--fearfully_) He’s out of his mind now, isn’t he?

ANDREW. He may be a little delirious. The fever would do that. (_With impotent rage_) God, what a shame! And there’s nothing we can do but sit and--wait! (_He springs from his chair and walks to the stove_).

RUTH. (_dully_) He was talking--wild--like he used to--only this time it sounded--unnatural, don’t you think?

ANDREW. I don’t know. The things he said to me had truth in them--even if he did talk them way up in the air, like he always sees things. Still---- (_He glances down at_ RUTH _keenly_) Why do you suppose he wanted us to promise we’d---- (_Confusedly_) You know what he said.

RUTH. (_dully_) His mind was wandering, I s’pose.

ANDREW. (_with conviction_) No--there was something back of it.

RUTH. He wanted to make sure I’d be all right--after he’d gone, I expect.

ANDREW. No, it wasn’t that. He knows very well I’d naturally look after you without--anything like that.

RUTH. He might be thinking of--something happened five years back, the time you came home from the trip.

ANDREW. What happened? What do you mean?

RUTH. (_dully_) We had a fight.

ANDREW. A fight? What has that to do with me?

RUTH. It was about you--in a way.

ANDREW. (_amazed_) About _me_?

RUTH. Yes, mostly. You see I’d found out I’d made a mistake about Rob soon after we were married--when it was too late.

ANDREW. Mistake? (_Slowly_) You mean--you found out you didn’t love Rob?

RUTH. Yes.

ANDREW. Good God!

RUTH. And then I thought that when Mary came it’d be different, and I’d love him; but it didn’t happen that way. And I couldn’t bear with his blundering and book-reading--and I grew to hate him, almost.

ANDREW. Ruth!

RUTH. I couldn’t help it. No woman could. It had to be because I loved someone else, I’d found out. (_She sighs wearily_) It can’t do no harm to tell you now--when it’s all past and gone--and dead. _You_ were the one I really loved--only I didn’t come to the knowledge of it ’til too late.

ANDREW. (_stunned_) Ruth! Do you know what you’re saying?

RUTH. It was true--then. (_With sudden fierceness_) How could I help it? No woman could.

ANDREW. Then--you loved me--that time I came home?

RUTH. (_doggedly_) I’d known your real reason for leaving home the first time--everybody knew it--and for three years I’d been thinking----

ANDREW. That I loved you?

RUTH. Yes. Then that day on the hill you laughed about what a fool you’d been for loving me once--and I knew it was all over.

ANDREW. Good God, but I never thought---- (_He stops, shuddering at his remembrance_) And did Rob----

RUTH. That was what I’d started to tell. We’d had a fight just before you came and I got crazy mad--and I told him all I’ve told you.

ANDREW. (_gaping at her speechlessly for a moment_) You told Rob--you loved me?

RUTH. Yes.

ANDREW. (_shrinking away from her in horror_) You--you--you mad fool, you! How could you do such a thing?

RUTH. I couldn’t help it. I’d got to the end of bearing things--without talking.

ANDREW. Then Rob must have known every moment I stayed here! And yet he never said or showed--God, how he must have suffered! Didn’t you know how much he loved you?

RUTH. (_dully_) Yes. I knew he liked me.

ANDREW. Liked you! What kind of a woman are you? Couldn’t you have kept silent? Did you have to torture him? No wonder he’s dying! And you’ve lived together for five years with this between you?

RUTH. We’ve lived in the same house.

ANDREW. Does he still think----

RUTH. I don’t know. We’ve never spoke a word about it since that day. Maybe, from the way he went on, he s’poses I care for you yet.

ANDREW. But you don’t. It’s outrageous. It’s stupid! You don’t love me!

RUTH. (_slowly_) I wouldn’t know how to feel love, even if I tried, any more.

ANDREW. (_brutally_) And I don’t love you, that’s sure! (_He sinks into his chair, his head between his hands_) It’s damnable such a thing should be between Rob and me. Why, I love Rob better’n anybody in the world and always did. There isn’t a thing on God’s green earth I wouldn’t have done to keep trouble away from him. And I have to be the very one--it’s damnable! How am I going to face him again? What can I say to him now? (_He groans with anguished rage. After a pause_) He asked me to promise--what am I going to do?

RUTH. You can promise--so’s it’ll ease his mind--and not mean anything.

ANDREW. What? Lie to him now--when he’s dying? (_Determinedly_) No! It’s _you_ who’ll have to do the lying, since it must be done. You’ve got a chance now to undo some of all the suffering you’ve brought on Rob. Go in to him! Tell him you never loved me--it was all a mistake. Tell him you only said so because you were mad and didn’t know what you were saying! Tell him something, anything, that’ll bring him peace!

RUTH. (_dully_) He wouldn’t believe me.

ANDREW. (_furiously_) You’ve got to make him believe you, do you hear? You’ve got to--now--hurry--you never know when it may be too late. (_As she hesitates--imploringly_) For God’s sake, Ruth! Don’t you see you owe it to him? You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.

RUTH. (_dully_) I’ll go. (_She gets wearily to her feet and walks slowly toward the bedroom_) But it won’t do any good. (ANDREW’S _eyes are fixed on her anxiously. She opens the door and steps inside the room. She remains standing there for a minute. Then she calls in a frightened voice_) Rob! Where are you? (_Then she hurries back, trembling with fright_) Andy! Andy! He’s gone!

ANDREW. (_misunderstanding her--his face pale with dread_) He’s not----

RUTH. (_interrupting him--hysterically_) He’s gone! The bed’s empty. The window’s wide open. He must have crawled out into the yard!

ANDREW. (_springing to his feet. He rushes into the bedroom and returns immediately with an expression of alarmed amazement on his face_) Come! He can’t have gone far! (_Grabbing his hat he takes_ RUTH’S _arm and shoves her toward the door_) Come on! (_Opening the door_) Let’s hope to God---- (_The door closes behind them, cutting off his words as_

(_The Curtain Falls_)