She flung back her head, and her red eyes looked defiantly at Wareham. He said—
“I am not a priest.”
“No, but you are a man. Say what you feel.”
“Enemy, then, yes. Conqueror, no.”
“Oh!” She flung out her hands impatiently.
“You are like the rest. What do you know?”
“You tell me that is the end.” He pointed to the door. “I see in it a beginning. ‘The power of an endless life.’ If hope were a phantom, it would fade before the face of death. Instead, it strengthens.”
A great yearning looked at him from her soul through her sad eyes. He had never before seen such a look. She turned away.
As she went down the stairs she said, hurriedly—
“Call me if I am wanted.” Then she came back a step or two. “Not unless I am wanted, mind.”