“But you said——”
Monica lifted her hand; she rose to her feet, passing her hand across her brow.
“You would not understand, dear. There are some things, Beatrice, that you are very slow to learn. You know something of the mysteries of life, but you do not understand anything of those deeper mysteries of death. I have forgiven a dying man, who prayed forgiveness with his latest breath—and you look at me with horror.”
Beatrice gazed at Monica, but yet would not yield her point.
“Mercy can be carried too far——” but she could not say more, for the look upon Monica’s face brought a sudden sense of choking that would have made her voice falter had she attempted to proceed. Her brother’s murmured words, therefore, were now distinctly heard.
“Not in God’s sight, perhaps.”
Monica turned to him with a swift gesture inexpressibly sweet.
“Ah! you understand,” she said simply. “I am glad you have come just now, Haddon. I shall want help. Will you give it me?”
“I will do anything for you, and esteem it an honour.”