Points again, gazing fixedly.
It seems to me to be written in fire.
Rhoda.
What seems written?
Michaelis.
What I have been doing, all these five years.
Rhoda.
Since your work began?
Michaelis.
It has never begun. Many times I have thought, "Now," and some man or woman has risen up healed, and looked at me with eyes of prophecy. But a Voice would cry, "On, on!" and I would go forward, driven by a force and a will not my own.—I didn't know what it all meant, but I know now.