MARY ROSE. Yes.
HARRY. It’s as if nobody wanted you, either there or here.
MARY ROSE. Yes. (She rises.) Bad man.
HARRY. It’s easy to call me names, but the thing fair beats me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, but a mere man is so helpless. How should the likes of me know what to do with a ghost that has lost her way on earth? I wonder if what it means is that you broke some law, just to come back for the sake of—of that Harry? If it was that, it’s surely time He overlooked it.
MARY ROSE. Yes.
(He looks at the open window.)
HARRY. What a night of stars! Good old glitterers, I dare say they are in the know, but I am thinking you are too small a thing to get a helping hand from them.
MARY ROSE. Yes.
(The call is again heard, but there is in it now no unholy sound. It is a celestial music that is calling for Mary Rose, Mary Rose, first in whispers and soon so loudly that, for one who can hear, it is the only sound in the world. Mary Rose, Mary Rose. As it wraps her round, the weary little ghost knows that her long day is done. Her face is shining. The smallest star shoots down as if it were her star sent for her, and with her arms stretched forth to it trustingly she walks out through the window into the empyrean. The music passes with her. HARRY hears nothing, but he knows that somehow a prayer has been answered.)
The End