"What is it?"
"Bles and Emma."
"What of them?"
"Their liking for each other."
Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece.
"I hadn't noticed it," she said in a low voice.
"Well, you're busy, you see. They've been very much together--his taking her to her charges, bringing her back, and all that. I know they love each other; yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their love. Do you know--I've wondered if--quite unconciously, it is you? You know Bles used to imagine himself in love with you, just as he did afterward with Miss Wynn."
"Miss--Wynn?"
"Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and you straightened him out finally. Still, Emma probably thinks yours is the prior claim, knowing, of course, nothing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of him and you, and I'm convinced if you say the word, they'd love and marry."
Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, looking out, she saw Bles and Emma coming from Aunt Rachel's. He was helping her from the carriage with smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened on him.
Zora looked long and searchingly.
"Please run and tell them of the legacy," she begged. "I--I will come--in a moment." And Mrs. Cresswell hurried out.
Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked herself in. After all, why shouldn't it be? Why had it not occurred to her before in her blindness? If she had wanted him--and ah, God! was not all her life simply the want of him?--why had she not bound him to her when he had offered himself? Why had she not bound him to her? She knew as she asked--because she had wanted all, not a part--everything, love, respect and perfect faith--not one thing could she spare then--not one thing. And now, oh, God! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that night of death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul. But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love; and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster.
With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round her. Her head swam again and the blood flashed in her eyes. She heard a calling in the swamp, and the shadow of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming her for her own, dragging her down, down.... She rushed through the swamp. The lagoon lay there before her presently, gleaming in the darkness--cold and still, and in it swam an awful shape.
She held her burning head--was not everything plain? Was not everything clear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgiven sin. Emma's was the pure soul which she must offer up to God; for it was God, a cold and mighty God, who had given it to Bles--her Bles. It was well; God willed it. But could she live? Must she live? Did God ask that, too?