“You think I’m heartless. You think I ought to cry.... Oh, I could sing! I’m free at last. Free of him, free of his defilement. If I could only get his blood out of my veins....”
“What are you saying? What has been going on here? Tell me.”
“He was a spy and a traitor and a murderer.... I discovered it. I knew it—and I couldn’t denounce him. He was my father, don’t you see? My father!... You can’t betray your father to the police. I hated him for it, and I loved my country—but I couldn’t denounce him.”
“Your father a spy? A German agent?”
“Yes.”
This explained much. He fell silent, striving to comprehend something of the tortures she had endured, striving to picture the life she must have led. “You poor child!” he said, softly.
“When you came with questions—I couldn’t answer. You called me a traitor ... and I dared not tell you. He was my father and—and I couldn’t have lived to have people point to me and call me the daughter of a traitor. Could you have borne that?”
“No,” he said. “No.”
“He knew I had discovered what he was.... He locked me in. I’ve been watched day and night. I’ve been a prisoner.”
“Cantor?...”