Rosa.
[Rushing to Rafael.] Rafael! Rafael! Tell me the truth. Am I not your wife? Don't you love me? Do you love some one else? Do you love Aaron's daughter? They are planning to marry her to you. What does it mean? [He motions her to be silent.] Does it mean that you wish it? No—no, it can't be that: you have said you were going away; but you didn't tell them of me. Why? Why do you not tell them of me?—soon enough you'll have to; and then—then you will have to choose—choose between the rage of your father—between disinheritance—poverty—the wrath of all the Ghetto, and me—only me! Rafael, my life is in your hands. Love me—love me, Rafael! Don't let me doubt you! [He stops her mouth. Suddenly Sachel opens the window over the shop-door; he leans out, listens, hears nothing, withdraws.] He's in my room—he's searching for me—he suspects us—he has said so. He's coming down now; he's going to accuse us; he's going to tell you to desert me—desert me or starve! Rafael, what are you going to say? Rafael, what are you going to say?
[He stops her mouth again; they look in through the door. A pause.
Enter Sachel.
Sachel.
She's not in the house! Rosa—where are you?
Rosa.
[Whispering to Rafael.] Where? Where?
[Quietly taking her in his arms.] Rosa is here, father.