FATHER H. Hush! Hush! How dare you speak so!
MICH. I must. The live agony of speech is better than the dead agony of silence, the eternal days and nights without her! Forget her? I can’t forget! Look!
(Takes out a faded red rose.)
SIR LYOLF. What is it?
MICH. A flower she threw me in church the last time I saw her. And I wouldn’t take it! I sent her away! I sent her away! And her flower was trampled on. The next night I got up in the middle of the night and went over to the church and found it on the altar steps. I’ve kept it ever since. (To his father.) Talk to me about her. I want somebody to talk to me about her. Tell me something you remember of her—some little speech of hers.—Do talk to me about her.
SIR LYOLF. My poor fellow!
MICH. I can’t forget. The past is always with me! I live in it. It’s my life. You think I’m here in this place with you—I’ve never been here. I’m living with her two years ago. I have no present, no future. I’ve only the past when she was with me. Give me the past! Oh! give me back only one moment of that past, one look, one word from her—and then take all that remains of me and do what you like with it. Oh!
(Goes back to bench, sits.)
SIR LYOLF (to FATHER HILARY). You see! I must tell him——
FATHER H. No, not while he’s in this mad state. Let’s quiet him first.