But Regan looked at me, with a face like a demon’s, where was such horrid cruelty and rage that I shuddered. And still he touched the bowed head gently and said:
“Poor child, he will return!”
It was of no use to hope. Calamities and circumstances seemed to me to be in Regan’s control! He would never give her up!
“There is no humanity in our wonderful endurance!” said Regan, at last.
“Why should we keep up this fraud of hypocrisy?” sobbed Isabella. “We are lost!-utterly, hopelessly, everlastingly most miserable! Oh! I wish I could see the sun! I wish I could see a woman’s face! I wish I could hear the little children laugh! I hate these yellow, churning seas, this volcanic world! I can never leave it, never, never!”
Still the days went on. We wrote, composed music, painted, devised dramas and made plans for their presentation. We coined money, we made statuary in stone. We hated it all in our darkness and desolation.
As day after day we sat beside the fire, from hating fate, Regan and I grew to hate each other, hate as two who were dead and laid in two separate graves of black might hate each other if angelhood were to be won by only one of them!
Did not Isabella see and know, when she carefully removed every implement which might serve as a weapon?
Did she fear when we sat glowering sullenly at the fire and dangerously at each other? Did she not constantly talk, talk, sing, sing?
I think that human beings must all grow dangerous if they do not see the sun. One-half this sentiment, which we call “gentleness,” “humanity,” “mercy,” is only sunlight!