_Custis_: Yes, you must.

_Susan_: He's a real white man. No offence, of course.

_Custis_: Not offend. He talk to me as if black no difference.

_Susan_: But I tell you what, Mr. Custis. He'll kill himself over this
war, his heart's that kind--like a shorn lamb, as they say.

_Custis_: Very unhappy war.

_Susan_: But I suppose he's right. It's got to go on till it's
settled.

_In the street below a body of people is heard approaching, singing
"John Brown's Body_" CUSTIS _and_ SUSAN _stand listening_, SUSAN
_joining in the song as it passes and fades away._

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

_First Chronicler_: Unchanged our time. And further yet
In loneliness must be the way,
And difficult and deep the debt
Of constancy to pay.

_Second Chronicler_: And one denies,
and one forsakes.
And still unquestioning he goes,
Who has his lonely thoughts, and makes.