"And you think," said Lydia, "that a woman should not accept the mission if she already loves?"
"I don't think it; I know it!"
Lydia felt a burden taken from her—the burden of doubt as well as the burden of sacrifice. But suddenly she remembered that Iréné in advising the refusal of the mission was making a sacrifice of her own love, and she said very low in Iréné's ear:
"But, Iréné, it's Chairo——"
"I know," answered Iréné, "and this is all the greater reason for refusing. Had you loved a lesser man you might have doubted the trueness of your love, but having loved Chairo once you can never cease to love him. I speak who know"; and Iréné turned on Lydia a look of immortal sorrow.
But the tumult of emotion in Lydia's heart could no longer be restrained. Her own great love for Chairo, her inability to sacrifice it, contrasted with the dignity of Iréné's renunciation, started a torrent of tears. She fell on Iréné's neck and sobbed there. Iréné's strong heart beat against her's as they stood in close embrace under the cloister, and calmed Lydia. She slowly disengaged herself, and looking into Iréné's face, said:
"And so you tell me to refuse the mission?"
"You cannot do otherwise."
Then Lydia kissed Iréné and withdrew.
Lydia went to her chamber and sat in the window seat, looking across the lawn to the temple of Demeter.