RANGER (as if to himself ). Who is it reads my secret thoughts, turns
my soul inside out, and pursues me? Why do you persecute me?

BEGGAR. Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou Me?

(The STRANGER goes out with a gesture of horror. The chord of the
funeral march is heard again. The LADY enters.)

LADY. Have you seen a man pass this way in a long cloak, with a green
hat?

BEGGAR. There was a poor devil here, who hobbled off....

LADY. The man I'm searching for's not lame.

BEGGAR. Nor was he. It seems he'd hurt his hip; and that made him walk
unsteadily. I mustn't be malicious. Look here in the mud.

LADY. Where?

BEGGAR (pointing). There! At that rut. In it you can see the impression
of a boot, firmly planted....

LADY (looking at the impression). It's he! His heavy tread.... Can I
catch him up?

BEGGAR. Follow the track!

LADY (taking his hand and kissing it). Thank you, my friend. (Exit.)

SCENE XIV

BY THE SEA

[The same landscape as before, but now winter. The sea is dark blue,
and on the horizon great clouds take on the shapes of huge heads. In the
distance three bare masts of a wrecked ship, that look like three white
crosses. The table and seat are still under the tree, but the chairs
have been removed. There is snow on the ground. From time to time a
bell-buoy can be heard. The STRANGER comes in from the left, stops a
moment and looks out to sea, then goes out, right, behind the cottage.
The LADY enters, left, and appears to be following the STRANGER'S
footsteps on the snow; she exits in front of the cottage, right. The
STRANGER re-enters, right, notices the footprints of the LADY, pauses,
and looks back, right. The LADY re-enters, throws herself into his arms,
but recoils.]

LADY. You thrust me away.

STRANGER. No. It seems there's someone between us.

LADY. Indeed there is! (Pause.) What a meeting!

STRANGER. Yes. It's winter; as you see.

LADY. I can feel the cold coming from you.

STRANGER. I got frozen in the mountains.

LADY. Do you think the spring will ever come?

STRANGER. Not to us! We've been driven from the garden, and must wander
over stones and thistles. And when our hands and feet are bruised, we
feel we must rub salt in the wounds of the... other one. And then the
mill starts grinding. It'll never stop; for there's always water.

LADY. No doubt what you say is true.

STRANGER. But I'll not yield to the inevitable. Rather than that we
should lacerate each other I'll ga