Zina. Nothing.
Halcom. (Breaking down.) My God! There is a history here the earth must have. Give it to me, and I will be content. (Drops head.)
Zina. (Rising and looking at him earnestly.) Mistress D’Arneaux has told me of a good God in heaven who gave us the beautiful earth and flowers, who loves even the broken hearts of the poor and helpless, whose hand leads always to happiness and truth, whose justice is as the rocks and mountain cliffs of our old home, that are never moved. But this is not for the slave, for master beats his hands so cruelly when they have tried to do the best they could.
Halcom. It is not the fault of heaven that men are bad. As justice lives for all, so is there a counterpoise of wrong.
Zina. Oh, my master has told me nothing of what you say.
Halcom. Away back in the almost hidden past, there lived a man whose mission was to substitute love for brutality. He laid down his life for this. The same wrong that renders your life hopeless, crushed his. Almost 1900 years have passed since then, but the silent hand of the dead still lives in the better civilization of the north.
Zina. Oh, I have thought so much, and looked in hope for better days to come, but it has been so hopeless. (Halcom looks earnestly at her.)
Halcom. How would you like to come with me?
Zina. Oh, you have been so good to me—but—but Master D’Arneaux will buy me when the war is done. Oh, his hands are so happy—
Halcom. You are right, my little one. Master D’Arneaux is a better man than I.