Adr. Sophie ... let it be the light from Heaven, not poor human love.
Soph. [Drawing back] Have I—am I—mistaken?
Adr. No. I love you as I have prayed never to love in my life.
Soph. And I love you as I have prayed all my life I might love.
Adr. There are greater things—than this.
Soph. I know. It is because of those greater things that I love you. [Touching him gently] And how can love be anything but a help—a blessing?
Adr. By taking no second place; by making itself master, as it always does; as it is doing now.
[Moves from her in agitation, which he suppresses, and speaks steadily] Years ago I gave myself to mankind. A poor gift, but the surrender was hard, for I loved myself and believed in giants, if not gods, who shoulder above the race. But the surrender was complete. And now shall I take another self in you? One that I could never give up?
[She is silent. A woman approaches without, moaning. Adrian goes to the door] Anna?
Anna. [Appearing at door] My lad is dead, sir. He wanted to see you again, but there was none to send. Each is busy with his own.