“Jane,” he said, “I want you to listen—listen with your heart, not with your reason.”
Then, with his head bared, he lifted it, as he had lifted it in the woods with Red. “O my God,” he said, “teach her—show her—somehow—Thyself. For she must learn, and I can’t teach—this. Over there, if not here—show her that she is all wrong, and that Thou art real, and ‘nearer than breathing, nearer than hands and feet.’ Until then—keep her safe—for me.”
He opened his eyes. Jane was staring straight out to sea, and on her face was he knew not what of mingled longing, appeal, and protest. Her fine brows were drawn together, her lips were caught between her beautiful white teeth. She turned upon him.
“Robert Black,” she said, low and fiercely, “I’ll never say I believe God heard that—oh, yes, I know there is a God—but I’ll never say I believe He heard, or cared—until I do believe it, not even if it would give me—you.”
“And I,” answered Robert Black, steadily, “would never ask you to say it till you do believe it—not even if it would give me—you!”
CHAPTER XV
QUICKSILVER IN A TUBE
“WHERE away, Miss Lockhart? May I come along a bit?”
Nan turned, to see Cary Ray’s tall figure falling into step beside her, his clean-cut face wearing the look of intent purpose which was now so marked upon it.
“Of course you may. I’m going to the station to meet Fanny. You knew her uncle died, and she went West to the funeral? She’s coming back to stay a few more days with me before she goes to join her mother.”
“I heard about the uncle. Is it a serious loss for her?”