"I have told myself it would," she said. "I have tried to prepare myself for its coming some day; but I did not think it would show itself so soon as this."
"I don't know why," he said slowly. "I don't know—what there is in me that I should think I might do what he left undone. There seems a kind of vanity in it."
"It is not vanity," she said; "it is worse. It is what has grown out of my misery and his. I tell you it is in your blood."
A flush rose to his face, and a stubborn look settled upon him.
"Perhaps it is," he answered. "I have told myself that, too."
She held her closed hand upon her heart, as if to crush down its passionate heavings.
"Begin as he began," she cried, "and the end will come to you as it came to him. Give it up now—now!"
"Give it up!" he repeated after her.
"Give it up," she answered, "or give up your whole life, your youth, your hope,—all that belongs to it."