Poe. You!
Hel. I, Edgar. You see I can remember my friends—and I ’ve come to scold you for not—letting me know—
Poe. It was you who sent—
Hel. Some blankets soft as summer clouds for the most beautiful lady in the world? And wine delicate enough for a fairy’s throat? I knew you would not have it else. (Turns to Mrs. Clemm) You do not know me, but—
Mrs. C. (Taking her hand) I know you are a good woman reaching a hand to me in my sorrow.
Hel. (Embracing her) No ... my arms!
(Poe goes to bed and kneels by Virginia. Speaks softly to her, then rises and brings a little wine)
Poe. Just a drop, dear,—a butterfly’s portion.
(Virginia drinks)
Hel. (To Mrs. Clemm) How is she?