“Miss Carmen! You––?”
“Yes, Sidney.” The gentle voice sounded to him like distant music.
“I––you––you brought me in here last night––but––” His hands closed about the little one that lay in his grasp. “You––haven’t sat here––with me––all night?”
“Yes, Sidney, all night.”
With a low moan the boy buried his face in her arms, and burst into a flood of bitter tears.
“It isn’t real, Sidney,” she whispered, twining an arm about his neck. “It isn’t real.”
For some moments the lad sobbed out his shame and misery. Carmen stroked his fair hair, and drew him closer to her, while tears of love and pity coursed down her own cheeks.
Then, suddenly, the boy started up. “Don’t touch me!” he cried, struggling to his feet, while his eyes shone with a wild light.
He started for the door, but Carmen darted past him and stood with her back against it, facing him. “Stop, Sidney!” she cried, holding her hands against him. “It can’t drive you! It is powerless! God reigns here!”
She turned the lock as he hesitated; then took his arm and led him, trembling and shivering, back to his chair.