Margaret. [Terrified] Sydney, don’t go away!
Sydney. It’s all right, Mother!
Hilary. Meg!
Margaret. But they said—they said—incurable. They shouldn’t have said—incurable.
Hilary. What does it matter? I’m well. I’m well, Meg! I tell you—it came over me like a lantern flash—like a face turning to you. I was in the garden, you know—lost. I was a lost soul—outcast! No hope. I can never make anyone understand. I was never like the rest of them. I was sane, always—but—the face was turned away.
Sydney. What face?
Hilary. The face of God.
Margaret. Sydney—is he—?
Sydney.—It’s all right, Mother! That isn’t madness. He’s come to himself.
Margaret. Then—then—what am I to do?