Betsy: I have always known it. It makes me sad to sing it, for it sets me thinking—thinking of something that I have forgotten. (She stands at the window above the sea.) Some days I climb high on the cliffs and I look upon the ocean. And I know that there is land beyond—where children play—but I see nothing but a rim of water. And sometimes the wind comes off the sea, and it brings me familiar far-off voices—voices I once knew—voices I once knew—fragments from a life I have forgotten. Why do you ask about my song?
Joe: Because I heard it once myself.
(Betsy sits beside him at the table.)
Betsy: Where? Perhaps, if you will tell me, it will help me to remember.
Joe: I heard the song once when I was a lad—when I was taken on a visit.
Betsy: Were your parents pirates?
Joe: It was a long journey and all day we bumped upon the road, seeking an outlet from the tangled hills. Night overtook our weary horses and blew out the flaming candles in the west; and shadows were a blanket on the sleeping world. Toward midnight I was roused. We had come to the courtyard of a house—this house where I was taken on a visit.
Betsy: Was it like this, Joe—a cabin on a cliff?
Joe: I remember how the moon peeped around the corner to see who came so late knocking on the door. I remember—I remember—(He stops abruptly). Do you remember when you first came to live with Nancy?
Betsy: I dreamed once—you will think me silly—Are there great stone steps somewhere, wider than this room, with marble women standing motionless? And walls with dizzy towers upon them?