"Yes," said Nan, at a venture, and yet truthfully. "I think I've known."
"An' now it's come to an end," said Tira. "Or if it ain't, it's on the way to it. An' seems if you ought to know the whole. You're tough enough to stan' up to 't."
"Yes," said Nan simply, "I'm very tough. Nothing's going to hurt me."
"I bring," said Tira, still with difficulty, "bad luck. Some folks do. Folks set by me a spell. Then they stop. They think I'm goin' to be suthin' they'd do 'most anything for, an' then they seem to feel as if I wa'n't. An' there's no"—she sought for a word here and came out blunderingly—"no peace nor rest. Nor for me, neither. I ain't had peace nor rest. Except"—here she paused again and ended gravely, and not this time inadequately—"in him."
Nan understood. She was grave in her answer.
"Mr. Raven," she said. "I know."
The color flowed into Tira's face and she looked at Nan, with her jewel-like eyes.
"I'm goin' to tell you," she said, "the whole story. He's like—my God. Anything I could do for him—'twould be nothin'. Anything he asked of me——"
Here the light faded out from her face and the flesh of it had that curious look of curdling, as if with muscular horror.
"But," she said, "here 'tis. S'pose it come on him, that—that"—she threw back her head in despair over her poverty of words—"s'pose it made him like——Oh, I tell you there's suthin' queer about me, there's suthin' wrong. It ain't that I look different from other folks. I ain't ever meant to act different. I swear to my God I've acted like a decent woman—an' a decent girl—an' when I was little I never even had a thought! You tell me. You'd know."