[Enter Harlot, who kneels at a grave which she has strewn with flowers.]

Harlot. Hast Thou punished me enough now, O Lord, to pardon me?

[Enter Christine quickly.]

Christine. Have you seen Master Olof, goodwife?

Harlot. Are you his friend or his enemy?

Christine. Do you mean to insult me?

Harlot. Pardon me! I haven't seen him since the last time I prayed.

Christine. You look so sorrowful! Oh, I know you now! It was you to whom Olof was talking that night in Greatchurch.

Harlot. You mustn't let it be seen that you are talking to me. You don't know who I am, do you?

Christine. Oh, yes, I know.

Harlot. You know--so they have told you?

Christine. Olof told me.

Harlot. O my G.o.d! And don't you despise me?

Christine. You are an unfortunate, down-trodden woman, Olof told me. Why should I despise misfortune?

Harlot. Then you cannot be happy yourself?

Christine. No, we have shared the same fate.

Harlot. I am not the only one, then! Tell me, who was the worthless man to whom you gave your love?

Christine. Worthless?

Harlot. Oh, pardon--to one who loves, no one seems worthless! To whom did you give your love?

Christine. You know Master Olof, don't you?

Harlot. Oh, tell me that it is not true! Don't rob me of my faith in him, too! It is the only thing I have left since G.o.d took my child!

Christine. You have had a child? Then you have been happy once.

Harlot. I thank G.o.d, who did not permit my son to find out the unworthiness of his mother.

Christine. Have you been guilty of any crime, that you speak so?

Harlot. I have just buried it.

Christine. Your child? How can you! And I pray G.o.d every day to grant me a little one--so that I may at least have one creature to love!

Harlot. Oh, poor child, pray to G.o.d that He preserve you from it!

Christine. I don't understand you, goodwife!

Harlot. Don't call me that! You know who I am, don't you?

Christine. Well, don't they offer prayers in the churches for those who have hopes?

Harlot. Not for such as we!

Christine. Such as we?

Harlot. They pray for the others and curse us.

Christine. What do you mean by "the others"? I don't understand you at all.

Harlot. Do you know the wife of Master Olof?

Christine. Why, that is I!

Harlot. You? Oh, why didn't I guess at once? Can you forgive me a moment's doubt? How could vice look like you and him? Alas! You must leave me. You are a child, still ignorant of wickedness. You must not be talking to me longer. G.o.d bless you! Good-bye! (She starts to leave.)

Christine. Don't leave me! Whoever you be, for G.o.d's sake, stay! They have broken into our house, and my husband is not to be found. Take me away from here--home to yourself--anywhere. You must be a good woman--you cannot be wicked--

Harlot (interrupting her). If I tell you that the brutality of the crowd wouldn't hurt you half so much as my company, then perhaps you will forgive me for leaving--

Christine. Who are you?

Harlot. I am an outcast on whom has been fulfilled that curse which G.o.d hurled at woman after the fall of our first parents. Ask me no more, for if I told you more, your contempt would goad me to a self-defence that would be still more contemptible.--Here comes somebody who perhaps will be generous enough to escort you, if you promise to let him have your honor and virtue and eternal peace for his trouble--for that is probably the least he will accept for his protection at such a late hour as this!

Please forgive me--it is not at you that I am railing.

[Enter Windrank, intoxicated.]

Windrank. Why the devil can't a fellow be left alone, even here among the corpses? See here, my good ladies, please don't ask me anything, for now I can't guarantee that I won't answer. The day after to-morrow I'll tell you all about it, for then it'll be too late. Perhaps you're some of those nuns that have been made homeless? Well, although women are nothing but women, I don't think I have any right to be impolite, for all that the sun set long ago. Of course, there is an old law saying that n.o.body can be arrested after sunset, but though the law is a bugbear, I think it's too polite to insist on anything when it's a question of ladies. Hush, hush, tongue! Why, the old thing is going like a spinning-wheel, but that comes from that infernal gin! Why should I be dragged into this kind of thing? Of course, I'll get well paid and be a man of means, but don't believe that I am doing it for the sake of the money! It's done now, but I don't want to--I don't want to! I want to sleep in peace nights and have no ghosts to trouble me. Suppose I goo and tell? No, then they'll arrest me. Suppose somebody else would go and tell? Perhaps one of you nuns might be so kind as to do it?

Christine (who has been conferring with the Harlot). If you have anything on your conscience that troubles you, please tell us.

Windrank. Am I to tell? That's just what I want to get out of, but this is horrible, and I can't stand it any longer. I am forced to do it. Why should I be the one? I don't want to.

Christine. My dear man, you mean to commit--

Windrank. A murder. Who told you? Well, thank G.o.d that you know! By all means, go ahead and tell about it--at once--or I'll have no peace--no peace in all eternity!

Christine (recovering from the first shock). Why should you murder him?

Windrank. Oh, there are such a lot of reasons. Just look at the way he is tearing down your nunneries.

Christine. The King?