There were a few men on the ranges, but they were no more to me than the sheep--not so much.

RHODA.

Weren't you dreadfully lonely?

MICHAELIS.

No.

RHODA.

You hadn't even any books to read?

MICHAELIS.

_Takes a took from his coat pocket._

I had this pocket Bible, that had been my father's. I read that sometimes. But always in a dream, without understanding, without remembering.

_His excitement increases._

Yet there came a time when whole chapters started up in my mind, as plain as if the printed page were before me, and I understood it all, both the outer meaning and the inner.

RHODA.

And you didn't know what made the difference?

MICHAELIS.

Yes.

RHODA.

What was it?

MICHAELIS.

I can't tell you that.

RHODA.

Oh, yes!

MICHAELIS.

There are no words to tell of it.

RHODA.

Yet tell me. I need to know. Believe me, I need to know!

MICHAELIS.

_Slowly, groping for his words._

It was one morning in the fourth spring. We were back in the mountains again. It was lambing time, and I had been up all night. Just before sunrise, I sat down on a rock to rest. Then--it came.

RHODA.

What came?

_He does not answer._

You saw something?

_He nods for yes._

What was it?

MICHAELIS.

_Rises, lifting his arms, a prey to uncontrollable excitement._

The living Christ!--Standing before me on the mountain, amid the grazing sheep.--With these eyes and in this flesh, I saw Him.

_Long pause._

RHODA.

_In a low tone._

You had fallen asleep. It was a dream.

MICHAELIS.

_Shakes his head in negation._

That wasn't all.

_He turns away. She follows him, and speaks after a silence._

RHODA.

Tell me the rest. What happened to you, after--after what you saw--that morning in the mountains?

MICHAELIS.

_Begins to talk slowly and reluctantly._