“No, no,” he said; “don’t remember this with a thought of pain. And do not withdraw from me altogether. Let us cancel to-night to start to-morrow on a new basis—as friends. You are lonely; I am lonely. I’ll not worry you with love. But I’ll try to be a dependable friend to you. Can we do that?”
“It sounds impossible,” she said, “but we can try.”
Love finds encouragement in trifles. The weight of Jim’s heaviness became less. He hoped. If Pandora had not loosed hope into the world the lovers’ portion would be miserable indeed.
It was late when they reached the Widow Stickney’s, but she was waiting for them in her parlor. Her old eyes with their years of seeing were not to be deceived. She saw what she saw.
Marie went quickly to her room. They said good night at the foot of the stairs. Jim extended his hand, held her little one in his grasp.
“Good night, friend,” he said, and smiled into her face.
She sat beside her window without undressing, motionless, even her eyes seeming without motion. She was wrestling, even as Jacob had wrestled, with an angel. But her angel had no divine touch of the finger to conquer her as the patriarch had been conquered.
The angel met defeat.
Marie lay face downward on the bed, tearless, passing through the agony she had brought on herself.
“I love him,” she whispered. “I love him. But I can’t. I can’t.”