If you would look for mercy, you must look
In God's way, by
confession
of your guilt.
Longfellow
There is a dark shape whispering in her ear.
HATHORNE.
What does it say to you?
MARTHA.
I see no shape.
HATHORNE.
Did you not hear it whisper?
MARTHA.
I heard nothing.
MARY.
What torture! Ah, what agony I suffer!
Falls into a swoon.
HATHORNE.
You see this woman cannot stand before you.
If you would look for mercy, you must look
In God's way, by
confession
of your guilt.
Why does your spectre haunt and hurt this person?
MARTHA.
I do not know. He who appeared of old
In Samuel's shape, a saint and glorified,
May come in whatsoever shape he chooses.
I cannot help it. I am sick at heart!
COREY.
O Martha, Martha! let me hold your hand.
HATHORNE.
No; stand aside, old man.
MARY (starting up).
Look there! Look there!
I see a little bird, a yellow bird
Perched on her finger; and it pecks at me.
