AUNTIE [after a moment]. Yes . . .
VICAR. I hardly know: I hardly dare to name him, but perhaps it was—the Saint.
AUNTIE. What I have done, William, has been done for love of you—you only—you only in the world!
VICAR. Yes: that's what I mean!
[The thought troubles her for a moment; then she paces up and down in agitated rebellion.]
AUNTIE. No! I can't believe it! I can't think that love is as wrong as you say!
VICAR. Love is a spirit of many shapes and shadows: a spirit of fire and darkness—a minister of heaven and hell: Sometimes I think the very damned know love—in a way. It can inform men's souls with the gladness of high archangels, or possess them with the despair of devils!
[She suddenly stands still, struck by the echo in his last phrase.]
Yes?
AUNTIE. I was wondering . . .