Hank [retiring].
When your heart was mine, true love,
And your head lay on my breast,
[He goes out, closing the door.]
You could make me believe by the falling of your arm
That the sun rose in the west.
[During the singing of this last stanza, the double doors swing wide as before, revealing a Figure standing motionless outside, bathed in moonlight. At the same time the flame in the glass lamp begins to flicker and wane. Lon holds the paper closer to his face, finally almost buries his nose in it, as if conscious of the Presence, but stubbornly resolved to ignore it. The Figure moves, and as it crosses the threshold the feeble light expires. Lon, however, still sits, as if absorbed in the newspaper, pretending to sip from the glass. The Figure in a thin mocking voice, echoes the song of the other, standing just behind Lon's chair.]
The Figure [a thin echo].
You could make me believe by the falling of your arm
That the sun rose up in the west.—
[Lon picks up the soiled pack of cards from the table and begins to shuffle them mechanically, nor does he once turn toward the apparition.]
Lon [in a hoarse whisper]. And what'r you doin' here?
[The Figure sits down nonchalantly in a chair a little to one side of Lon's. He is dressed in the western style, that is, without style, corduroys, heavy boots, flannel shirt. In fact, he looks almost natural. But there is a curious dark mark in the center of his forehead—or is it a round, dark hole?]