Michael and His Lost Angel: A Play in Five Acts

by Henry Arthur Jones

AUDR. Where are you going?

MICH. I don’t know.

AUDR. It doesn’t matter, I shall find you out.

MICH. You’ll follow me?

AUDR. Yes—all over this world, and the ten thousand others. I shall follow you. You’ll find me always with you, clawing at your heart. Au revoir. (Takes up her basket of roses, going out with them by transept, stops.) Do let me put some flowers on the altar—just to remind you. Your memory is so bad, you know.

(He raises his hand very quietly and turns his back on her. She stands very quiet and hopeless for a few seconds, then takes up the basket of flowers, goes a step or two towards transept, turns.)

AUDR. I’m going to be very ill after this. (He stands at altar in an attitude of prayer, his back to her.) Do you hear, I’m going to be very ill? There’s a little string in my heart—I’ve just heard it snap. (Pause.) If I were dying and I sent for you, would you come?

MICH. (after a long pause, very quietly). Yes.

(Pause.)