(It lightens slowly. As it does so, it can be seen that the woman is young and fair, and fine of nature. Her robe is of dazzling white; it has a surface like that of satin-finished gauze, which reflects all the light there is. Her long, dark hair is disordered, and falls about her. She is pale. Her eyes do not open. She lies helplessly in his arms.)
(Dr. Thorne lays her gently against the trunk of a dead tree, which has fallen across a hollow in the cliff, and which rests so as to support the woman. He seats himself beside her; bends to examine her face.)
Dr. Thorne (recognizes the face of the woman; cries in a voice that rings through the hills). Helen!
The Echo (takes up the cry). Helen!
Helen Thorne (is half-conscious and confused; does not open her eyes; murmurs). Will it last long?
Dr. Thorne (clasps her reverently. As his arms touch her, they can be seen to tremble. He moans). My—poor—wife!
Helen Thorne (still lying with closed eyes; murmurs, but more distinctly). I said I would die two deaths for him.... Are they over, yet?... if that would help him any ... where he had gone. (Opens her eyes, but they see nothing. Dreamily and solemnly, as if repeating a familiar prayer, she speaks softly.) Great God! I will die ten deaths for him ... and count myself a happy woman ... if that will make it any easier for him.
Dr. Thorne (groaning, puts his wife gently from him, as if she were a being too sacred for his touch. Turns his face from her; speaks). I am not fit!... I dare not touch her!
Helen Thorne (praying). Dear Lord! I would die for him ... as Thou didst die for us.... If that could be.... Dear Lord!
Dr. Thorne (utterly broken). I am a sinful man, O God! (Removes from her, and stands with his face in his hands.)