“You say you went once more inside the sacred curtain. But why?”
“I felt I had given up so much that the Serpent must recognise how much I really loved him. Besides, I felt I wanted to get some real strength to go on living after every hope and aspiration had died away.”
“What was it made you wish so badly for a tongue?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was me that wished; I think it was something else.”
And then she flushed, for that was the style of speech Mr. Barringcourt would have ridiculed. And she herself recognised that truth at times, to the ignorant or wilfully blind, may appear silly and foolish. But this new acquaintance made no remark immediately, only his keen eyes travelled across her face, as if reading something there.
“And that something?” he asked at length.
“I don’t know, I’m sure. But it never gave me any peace, and it wasn’t myself, I am sure. Sometimes I used to reason that I couldn’t possibly receive the gift of speech, and yet the inner voice repeated, ‘Go on, go on!’ so that, apart from my own great wish, I was obliged to do as I was told.”
“And you received the gift at last?”
“Yes.”
“On that last visit to the Serpent?”