"
"If you but would!" she sighed. "You would be taking me out of hell."
"Into another worse," I countered swiftly. "I should do you such a wrong
as naught could ever right again."
She looked at me for a spell in silence. Her back was to the light and her
face in shadow, so that I could not read what passed there. Then, very
slowly, like one utterly weary, she got to her feet.
"I will do your will, beloved; but I do it not for the wrong that I should
suffer--for that I should count no wrong--but for the wrong that I should
be doing you."
She paused as if for an answer. I had none for her. I raised my arms,
then let them fall again, and bowed my head. I heard the gentle rustle of
her robe, and I looked up to see her staggering towards the door, her arms
in front of her like one who is blind. She reached it, pulled it open, and
from the threshold gave me one last ineffable look of her great eyes, heavy
now with tears. Then the door closed again, and I was alone.
From my heart there rose a great surge of thankfulness. I fell upon my
knees and prayed. For an hour at least I must have knelt there, seeking
grace and strength; and comforted at last, my calm restored, I rose, and
went to the window. I drew back the curtains, and leaned out to breathe
the physical calm of that tepid September night.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188