One word—suppose it some small sacrifice,
To save those churls for whom you say your heart
Bleeds; yet you will not lift your little finger
To save them! And what hinders you?—A breath,
A dream, a golden rule! Can you not break it
For a much greater end?
MARIAN
I'd die to save them.
JOHN
Then live to save them.
MARIAN
No, you will not let me;
D'you think that bartering my soul will help
To save another? If there's no way but this,
Then through my lips those suffering hundreds cry,
We choose the suffering. All that is good in them,
All you have left, all you have not destroyed,
Cries out against you: and I'll go to them,
Suffer and toil and love and die with them
Rather than touch your hand. You over-rate
Your power to hurt our souls. You are mistaken!
There is a golden rule!
JOHN
And with such lips
You take to preaching! I was a fool to worry
Your soul with reason. With hair like yours—it's hopeless!
But Marian—you shall hear me.
[He catches her in his arms.]