ANNIE. [Enters, delirious, her bare arms and throat covered with
bruises, her hair loose, and her aspect wild; an Irish peasant girl,
aged twenty.] No! No! Let me go!

[Rushes into the opposite corner, and cowers in terror.]

JULIA. [Following her.] Annie! Annie!

ANNIE. [Flings her off, and stretches out her arms.] What do you want
with me? Help! Help! I won't do it! I won't stay! Let me alone!

[Wild and frantic sobbing.]

JULIA. Annie, dear! Annie! Look at me! Don't you know me? I'm Julia!
Your own Julia! No one shall hurt you . . . no one!

ANNIE. [Stares at her wildly.] He's after me still! He'll follow me
here! He won't let me get away from him! Oh, save me!

JULIA. [Embracing her.] Listen to me, dear. Don't think of things like
that. You are in my home . . . nothing can hurt you. Don't let these
evil dreams take hold of you.

ANNIE. [Stares, as if coming out of a trance.] Why didn't you help me
before?

JULIA. Come, dear . . . come.

ANNIE. It's too late . . . too late! Oh . . . I can't forget about it!