When he was momentarily in silence Japhra looked a question at Ima.
She answered quite simply: "I told him that I loved him."
"And he?" Japhra said.
She arranged the bedclothes, and with a fond touch smoothed back Percival's hair; then looked at her father and smiled bravely and shook her head.
"I have known it these many days," Japhra told her. "I have watched thee." He placed his hand on hers where it caressed Percival's forehead. "What of comfort have I for thee?" he said. "My daughter, none. He is not of us. Hearken to this thought, Ima. Heaven shapeth its vessels for the storms they must meet. Some larger thing calleth that grace of form and that rareness of spirit that he hath. What profit then for us to sorrow?"
Because he saw her crying, he repeated: "What profit?"
"Well, I am a woman," she said. "My love is of a different sort from thine."
He stroked her hair. "My daughter, wouldst thou unlive the past?"
She replied: "Nay, it is all I have."
"So with me," he said. "This night endeth it. Thou and I—henceforward we will be alone, remembering him—happy to have loved him, happy that he hath been happy with us, happy to have been a port where he hath fitted himself a little for what sea he saileth to."