' Her replies were
whispers.
'And a brother?--no matter, he is a man. But a sister?' Her head
drooped a quavering 'Yes.' 'Younger? Very much?' 'Seven years.'
'And you have thought well about this matter? About them? About
your mother? And your sister? She stands on the threshold of her
woman's life, and this wildness of yours may mean much to her.
Could you go before her, look upon her fresh young face, hold her
hand in yours, or touch your cheek to hers?'
To his words, her brain formed vivid images, till she cried out,
'Don't! don't!' and shrank away as do the wolf-dogs from the
lash.
'But you must face all this; and better it is to do it now.' In
his eyes, which she could not see, there was a great compassion,
but his face, tense and quivering, showed no relenting.
She raised her head from the table, forced back the tears,
struggled for control.
'I shall go away. They will never see me, and come to forget me.
I shall be to them as dead. And--and I will go with Clyde--today.'
It seemed final. Wharton stepped forward, but the priest waved him
back.
'You have wished for children?' A silent 'Yes.' 'And prayed for
them?' 'Often.' 'And have you thought, if you should have
children?' Father Roubeau's eyes rested for a moment on the man
by the window.
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