Indeed!

RECHA.

I speak, in veriest truth.

My father hates book-learning, which he says, Makes an impression only on the brain With lifeless letters.

SITTAH.

Well, he's right in that.

And so the greater part of what you know----

RECHA.

I've learnt from his own mouth, and I can tell The when, the where, and why he taught it me.

SITTAH.

So it clings closer, and the soul drinks in The full instruction.

RECHA.

Yes, and Sittah, too, Has not read much.

SITTAH.

How so? I am not vain Of having read, and yet why say you so?

Speak boldly. Tell the reason.

RECHA.

She's so plain-- So free from artifice--so like herself.

SITTAH.

Well!

RECHA.

And my father says 'tis rarely books Work that effect.

SITTAH.

Oh, what a man he is, Dear Recha!

RECHA.

Is he not?

SITTAH.

He never fails To hit the mark.

RECHA.

Yes, yes; and yet this father----

SITTAH.

What ails you, love?

RECHA.

This father----

SITTAH.

Oh my G.o.d!

You're weeping.

RECHA.

And this father--it must forth-- My heart wants room, wants room---- (_Throws herself in tears at_ Sittah's _feet_.)

SITTAH.

What ails you, Recha?

RECHA.

Yes, I must lose this father!

SITTAH.

Lose him--never!

Why so? Be calm. Courage! it must not be.

RECHA.

Your offer to be friend and sister to me Will now not be in vain.

SITTAH.

Yes, I am both.

Arise, arise, or I must call for help.

RECHA.

O pardon! I forget, through agony, With whom I speak. Tears, sobbing, and despair Are naught with Sittah. Reason, calm and cool, Is over her alone omnipotent.

No other argument avails with her.