“And what is greatest in me?” he asked abruptly, his coolness and self-possession striving to hold their own.
“That which will ruin thee in the end.” Her eyes looked beyond his into the distance, rapt and shining; she seemed scarcely aware of his presence. “That which will bring thee down—thy hungry spirit of discovery. It will serve thee no better than it served the late Earl. But thee it will lead into paths ending in a gulf of darkness.”
“Deborah!” he answered, with a rasping laugh. “Continuez! Forewarned is forearmed.”
“No, do not think I shall be glad,” she answered, still like one in a dream. “I shall lament it as I lament—as I lament now. All else fades away into the end which I see for thee. Thee will live alone without a near and true friend, and thee will die alone, never having had a true friend. Thee will never be a true friend, thee will never love truly man or woman, and thee will never find man or woman who will love thee truly, or will be with thee to aid thee in the dark and falling days.”
“Then,” he broke in sharply, querulously, “then, I will stand alone. I shall never come whining that I have been ill-used, to fate or fortune, to men or to the Almighty.”
“That I believe. Pride will build up in thee a strength which will be like water in the end. Oh, my lord,” she added, with a sudden change in her voice and manner, “if thee could only be true—thee who never has been true to any one!”
“Why does a woman always judge a man after her own personal experience with him, or what she thinks is her own personal experience?”
A robin hopped upon the path before her. She watched it for a moment intently, then lifted her head as the sound of a bell came through the wood to her. She looked up at the sun, which was slanting towards evening. She seemed about to speak, but with second thought, moved on slowly past the mill and towards the Meeting-house. He stepped on beside her. She kept her eyes fixed in front of her, as though oblivious of his presence.
“You shall hear me speak. You shall listen to what I have to say, though it is for the last time,” he urged stubbornly. “You think ill of me. Are you sure you are not pharisaical?”
“I am honest enough to say that which hurts me in the saying. I do not forget that to believe thee what I think is to take all truth from what thee said to me last year, and again this spring when the tulips first came and there was good news from Egypt.”