Rafael.
Very well. I will see what I can find.
Sachel.
Oh, my Maker, how heavily thou visitest upon me! To be thus mocked by a stranger within mine own house! If your poor dead mother knew how you treated me!
Rafael.
Father, the rotten board that marked my mother's grave is falling to pieces. And you can hardly find the spot for weeds—weeds!
Sachel.
Is that where you've been? Where else?
Rafael.
Far away—in my thoughts.