what about . . . (Pointing to the lodge) about the two who do suspect each other’s presence among the living!
Fable.—Precious people, with your permission, I take my leave. You have my message, I can be of no further service, and I am on my way.
Ann.—Oh, we beg pardon for neglecting you . . .
Fable.—Not at all. Everything is ship shape. I shall take the upper road, if you don’t mind. Good night. (Exit.)
John.—You mean?
Ann.—Don’t act so innocent! The two that one in there and this one—father and son.
John (Pretentiously righteous).—Don’t meddle with them! We have no right to stand between them!
Ann.—And you have never done that before, doctor?
John.—Please, please, don’t drive me mad! He may be here any minute, and you don’t give a man the chance to collect his wits!
Johnny (Suddenly comprehending).—Mamma, is it that rebel uncle of mine that’s coming? I want to see him, I want to see him!
John.—Out of the way! You go to bed this minute!
Andrew (Out of lodge window).—Pardon, but the old man will not stir from the window. He is still expecting the procession to pass this way. He is straining his ears for the music, and they have stopped long ago. I don’t know what to do with him. (He stands so that Hans, entering, sees him first.)
(Ann is sitting under the tree where she is cut off from Hans’ view. John is standing beside her also out of sight. Julia has strayed up stage and Johnny is attached to her.)
Hans (Outside).—Andrew! Andrew! Could you scrape up a lodging for a poor tramp?
Andrew.—For the love of God, if it isn’t Mr. Hans! So the old woman was right after all! Upon my soul, it is the very, very Mr. Hans!
Hans (Entering and catching sight of Julia).—Ann! My Ann! what luck! Is it possible? And how do you happen to be here at our house? (He embraces her eagerly.)
Julia (Too astounded to resist).—No, no, I am not . . .
Ann (Coming into view).—Stop, you unhappy man, I am Ann! This is my sister, Julia.
Hans (Confused).—You are Ann? You, Ann? I am Jan, Hans, who has come out of the wide world to his father’s house.
