ABRAHAM. I admit it. I went at once to her cell, and, knocking at the window, I called her again and again, “Mary! My child! Mary!”
EPHREM. You called in vain?
ABRAHAM. “Mary,” I said. “Mary, my child, what is wrong? Why are you not saying your office?” It was only when I did not hear the faintest sound that I suspected.
EPHREM. What did you do then?
ABRAHAM. When I could no longer doubt that she had gone, I was struck with fear to my very bowels. I trembled in every limb.
EPHREM. I do not wonder, since I, hearing of it, find myself trembling all over.
ABRAHAM. Then I wept and cried out to the empty air, “What wolf has seized my lamb? What thief has stolen my little daughter?”
EPHREM. You had good cause to weep! To lose her whom you had cherished so tenderly!
ABRAHAM. At last some people came up who knew what had happened. From them I learned that she had gone back to the world.
EPHREM. Where is she now?