“No.”
“Why have you told me?”
He felt certain that she had not spoken merely in order to be reassured, nor in order to find relief. Speaking was no relief to Flora, so far as Owen could see.
“I want you to try and find out definitely.”
“Yes. And supposing I do, supposing that what you fear is true—” he hesitated.
“That David took his own life?” said Flora, shuddering. “Then, don’t you see, Owen, I shall have to tell Father—or else to make it absolutely certain that no one will ever tell him.”
“You can’t,” said Owen gently.
“But I must,” she told him, with the same intensity. “He’s had a great deal to bear already, and this would be worse than anything. Suicide is a mortal sin. Bodily separation, one can resign oneself to—he is resigning himself, poor Father, to separation from nearly all those whom he loves,—but suicide would mean eternal separation. It would be worse than anything—the loss of David’s soul.”
“I see.”
Quentillian did indeed see.