Charity. Well, brother John.
John. Another, a younger face. Now I see it with the glow of health upon the cheeks, the eye bright and laughing, as I have seen it come and go before me in the old days. And now—'tis pale and haggard: the eyes are bloodshot. O Charity, the face that has haunted my sleep! I have tried to shut it out; but it comes before me with a look full of reproach. Oh had I but been merciful, all this might not have been!
Charity. And yet that, too, is the face of a hero.
Stub. Oh! why don't she tell 'em?
Charity. Go on, John: look once more.
John. Once more: the face of a fair, bright girl, who won her way to my heart. I never knew how much I loved, until I lost her. She left me, nobly left me: I had no right to stay her. Will she come back, Charity? will she?
Stub. Why, don't you know—
Charity. Silence, Stub! Now, brother John, let me tell you what I see there. I see the face of that same brave, true girl, in all its beauty: the girl who forsook home and friends, with the brave wish in her heart to save her lover from destruction. I see her gladly embracing a life of hard, grinding poverty, cheering the fainting spirit of a broken man, guarding and guiding him through the dark valley of remorse, until he stands alone, strong, resolute, determined.
John. Jessie, our Jessie: well, well, go on.