110 MYSTERIES:
and I am so little, it is so pure and I am so dull of un-
derstanding. When I write I feel as it were the breath
of an angel covering me with holiness, and I know—
then! But now—I only write mechanically. I force
myself. To-day I tore up all I wrote last night.
ESME. |
Let us ask God to send you the angel, shall we?
[They kneel, with arms intertwined, at the
open window, and bow their heads silently.
Vaughan also prays, with arms outspread
in blessing. Curtain.
SCENE III.
Six months later.
The dining-room. Percy, Vaughan, Esmé at dinner.
Enter Butler.
BUTLER.
F you please, sir, a gentleman has called; he says
he must see you at once.
; VAUGHAN.
Have you told him we are at dinner?
BUTLER.
Yes, sir; but he would not take that; begging your