Owen could not answer; and a moment after he remembered that it is only those who feel as deeply as Evelyn who can speak as lightly, otherwise they would not be able to resist the strain; and the strain was a very terrible one, he could see that, for she turned over in bed, and a little later he perceived that she had been crying. Turning suddenly, she exclaimed:
"Owen, Owen, I am very frightened!"
"Frightened of what, dear one?"
"I don't know, Owen, I can't tell you; but I am very frightened, for he seems not to be very far away and may come again."
"And who is 'he'?"
"It is impossible to tell you—a darkness, a shadow that seems always by me, and who was very near me last night. A little more chloral and I should not be here talking to you!"
"It is terrible, Evelyn, terrible! And how should I have lived?"
"You lived before me and you will live after me. Suicide is a mortal sin, so Monsignor would tell me. We are forbidden to kill ourselves even to escape sin, and that seems strange; for how shall I ever believe that God would not have forgiven me, that he would not have preferred me to kill myself than to have—?" And her voice died away, Owen wondered whether for lack of strength or unwillingness to express herself in words.
"My dear Evelyn! my dear Evelyn!"
"You don't understand, Owen; I am so different from what I was once.
I know it, I feel it, the difference, and it can't be helped."