"I think I could be that too," began Doe—
Doe was carrying on the conversation with ease. I left it to him, for these words were winning eternity in my memory: "I could forgive them everything." With a sense of loneliness, and that I had lost my anchor in those last days of the old world, I felt that one day I would unburden myself to Monty. I would like an anchor again, I thought. The same idea must have been possessing Doe, for he was saying:
"Somehow I could forgive everything to those fellows you've been telling us about, but I'm blowed if I can forgive myself everything."
And here Monty, with the utmost naturalness, as though so deep a question flowed necessarily from what had gone before, asked:
"Have you everything to be forgiven?"
It is wonderful the questions that will be asked and the answers that will be given under the stars.
Doe looked out over the water, and moved his right foot to and fro. Then he drew his knee up and clasped it with both hands.
"Everything," he said, rather softly.
And, when I heard him say that, I felt I was letting him take blame that I ought to share with him. So I added simply:
"It's the same with both of us."