“Thank you, with all my troubled heart, dear Margaret. I will indeed try again.”
She sprang from the couch in a sudden agony, and grasping Margaret by the arm, looked at her with such a terror-stricken face, that she began to fear she was losing her reason.
“Margaret,” she said, as if with the voice as of one just raised from the dead, speaking with all the charnel damps in her throat, “could it be that I am in love with him still?”
Margaret shuddered, but did not lose her self-possession.
“No, no, Euphra, darling. You were haunted with him, and so tired that you were not able to hate him any longer. Then you began to give way to him. That was all. There was no love in that.”
Euphra’s grasp relaxed.
“Do you think so?”
“Yes.”
A pause followed.
“Do you think God cares to have me do his will? Is it anything to him?”