"Because Paul Tennant is still in the world! I am pusillanimous enough
to wish to breathe the same air."
"You _do_ love him!" said Cicely. She paused. "Perhaps--after a
little--"
"No, I have thought it all out; it can never be. If he should come to me
this moment, and tell me that he loved me in spite of everything, it
wouldn't help me; for I should know that it could not last; I should
know that, if I should marry him, sooner or later he would hate me; it
would be inevitable. Ferdie's face would come always between us."
"I hope it may," said Cicely, savagely. "Why do you keep on staying with
me? I don't wish you to stay. Not in the least."
"I thought that I could perhaps be of some use. You were so dear to my
brother--"
"Much you care for poor old Jack now! Even _I_ care more."
"Yes, I have changed. But--Jack understands."
"A convenient belief!"
"And you have his child."
--"And I am Paul's sister!"
"Yes; I can sometimes hear of Paul through you."
Eve's voice, as she said this, was so patient that Cicely was softened.
She came to Eve and kissed her. "I am sorry for you, Eve."
"Will you promise me to go to bed?" Eve answered, resuming her usual
tone, as she turned towards the door. "I must go now, I am tired."
Cicely went with her. "I am never sure of myself, Eve," she said,
warningly; "I may say just the same things to you to-morrow,--remember
that."
Once in her own room, Eve did not follow the advice which she had given
to Cicely; finding that she could not sleep, she dressed herself afresh,
and sought the open air again. It was still early, no one was stirring
save the servants. Meeting Porley, she asked the girl to bring her some
tea and a piece of corn-bread; after this frugal breakfast, taken in the
shade of the great live-oaks, she wandered down one of the eastern
roads. Her bath had brought no color to her cheeks; her eyes had the
contracted look which comes after a night of wakefulness; though the
acute pain had ceased, her weary arms still hung lifelessly by her side,
her step was languid; only her golden hair looked bright and young as
the sun's rays shone across it.
She walked on at random; after a while, upon looking down one of the
tracks, bordered by the glittering green bushes, she recognized Miss
Sabrina's figure, and, turning, followed it.
Miss Sabrina had come out to pay an early visit to her temple of
memories. She heard Eve's step, and looked up. "Oh, is it you, my dear?
It's St. Michael and All-Angels; I have only brought a few flowers, I
hope you don't mind?" Her voice was apologetic.
"Do you mean for my brother? I wish you had brought more, then; I wish
you would always remember him," said Eve, going over and sitting down
beside the mound. "He has the worst time of any of us, after all!"
"Oh, my dear, how _can_ we know?" murmured Miss Sabrina, shocked.
"I don't mean that he is in hell," said Eve.
Miss Sabrina had no idea what she meant; she returned to the subject of
her temple. "Cicely thinks I come here too often,--she spoke of
charnel-houses. Perhaps I do come often; but it has been a comfort to
me."
"Miss Sabrina, do you believe in another world?"
"My dear child, most certainly."
"And have we the same feelings, the same affections, there as here?"
"The good ones, I suppose."
"Is love one of these?"
"The best, isn't it?"
"Well, then, my brother took his love for Cicely; if she should die
to-day, how much would she care for him, when she met him?"
"I think that something else would be provided for your brother,
probably," said Miss Sabrina, timidly.
"Another wife? Why not arrange that for Ferdie Morrison, and give Cicely
to Jack?"
"She loved Ferdie the best. Aren't you inclined to think that it must be
when they _both_ love?" suggested the maiden lady.
"And when they both love, should anything be permitted to come between
them?"
"Oh, nothing! nothing!" said Miss Sabrina, with fervor. "That is, of
course, when there is no barrier; when it would be no crime."
"What is crime?" demanded Eve, looking at her sombrely. "I don't think I
know."
"Surely the catechism tells us, doesn't it?"
"What does it tell?"
Miss Sabrina murmured reverently: "Idolatry, isn't it?--and blasphemy;
desecration of the Lord's Day and irreverence to parents; murder,
adultery, theft; falsehood and covetousness."
"And which is the worst? Murder?"
"I suppose so."
"Have you ever spoken to a murderer?"
"Heaven forbid!" said Miss Sabrina. She glanced with suffused eyes
towards Ferdie's grave. "It is _such_ a comfort to me to think that
though he was in effect murdered, those poor ignorant nig-roes had
probably no such intention; it was not done deliberately, by some one
who _wished_ to harm him."
"I don't believe his murderer will be afraid to face him in the next
world," said Eve. She, too, looked towards the mound; she seemed to see
Ferdie lying down below, with closed eyes, but the same grimacing lips.
"Oh, as to that, they would have so little in common that they wouldn't
be thrown much together, I reckon," said Miss Sabrina, hopefully; "I
doubt if they even meet."
"Your heaven is not like the Declaration of Independence, is it?" said
Eve.
Miss Sabrina did not understand. She pinched her throat with her thumb
and forefinger, and looked vaguely at Eve.
"I mean that all men 'are created equal;' your heaven has an outside
colony for negroes, and once or twice a week white angels go over there,
I suppose, ring the Sunday-school bell, and hold meetings for their
improvement."
Miss Sabrina colored; she took up her basket.
"Forgive me!" said Eve, dropping her sarcasms. "I am unhappy. That is
the reason I talk so."
"I feared so, my dear; I feared so," answered the gentle lady, melted at
once.
Eve left her, and wandered across the island to the ocean beach. Low
waves came rolling in and broke upon the sand; no ship was in sight; the
blue of the water met the horizon line unbroken. She walked southward
with languid step; every now and then she would stop, then walk slowly
on again. After half an hour a sound made her turn; Paul Tennant was
close upon her, not twenty feet distant; the wash of the waves had
prevented her from hearing his approach. She stood still, involuntarily
turning towards him as if at bay.
Paul came up. "Eve, I know what I am about now. I didn't know out there
at Jupiter Light; I was dazed; but I soon understood. I went back to the
camp, but you were gone. As soon as I could I started after you. Here I
am."
"You understood? What did you understand?" said Eve, her face deathly
white.
"That I loved you," said Paul, taking her in his arms. "That is enough
for me; I hope it is for you."
"That you love me in spite of--"
"There is no 'in spite of;' what you did was noble, was extraordinarily
brave. A woman is timid; you are timid, though you may pretend not to
be; yet with your own hand--"
Eve remembered how Cicely had struck her hand down. "You will strike it
down, too!" she said, incoherently, bursting into tears.
Paul soothed her, not by words, but by his touch. Her whole being
responded; she leaned her head against his breast.
"To save Cicely you crushed your own feelings; you did something utterly
horrible to you. And you faced all the trouble and grief which would
certainly come in consequence of it. Why, Eve, it was the bravest thing
I have ever heard of."