He helped her with the next load, looking at the writing on the outside of the letter-bundles as he undid them.
"Grandfather Gano," he said, throwing a handful on the fire. "Your father"—another handful. "Aunt Valeria"—another. "Grandm—"
"Don't," cried Val, with quivering face; "you mustn't call their names!" He looked back at her. "It's like calling them to look at the way we treat the things they left us."
He went on silently with his task. There was no doubt she felt it keenly; why do it, then? Only out of shrinking from those "stranger" hands. Then she was facing the compact, after all.
"Ethan?"
"Yes."
"Why do you stay here?"
"Because the time's so short."
"Dear one"—she came and leaned against him—"go and finish your writing; I'll come back in an hour."