Hester. I thank you for saving me from him last night.
Gerald. Ah, that is nothing. I would die to save you. But you don’t tell me what to do now!
Hester. Have I not thanked you for saving me?
Gerald. But what should I do?
Hester. Ask your own heart, not mine. I never had a mother to save, or shame.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. He is hard—he is hard. Let me go away.
Gerald. [Rushes over and kneels down bedside his mother.] Mother, forgive me: I have been to blame.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Don’t kiss my hands: they are cold. My heart is cold: something has broken it.
Hester. Ah, don’t say that. Hearts live by being wounded. Pleasure may turn a heart to stone, riches may make it callous, but sorrow—oh, sorrow cannot break it. Besides, what sorrows have you now? Why, at this moment you are more dear to him than ever, dear though you have been, and oh! how dear you have been always. Ah! be kind to him.
Gerald. You are my mother and my father all in one. I need no second parent. It was for you I spoke, for you alone. Oh, say something, mother. Have I but found one love to lose another? Don’t tell me that. O mother, you are cruel. [Gets up and flings himself sobbing on a sofa.]