"What for?" There was a dangerous light in the girl's eyes. "Because you have suffered for the wrong you did, you think you can ease your conscience by confessing to Cap'n Billy, and making him suffer again?" Devant stared at her.
"You think it is for myself?" he asked.
"Who then?"
"Why, for you! Can you not see what it would mean to you?" Janet drew back.
"You—you want to do things for me? You who left my mother to die?" A fine scorn shook the low voice.
"My God! do not be so hard. Only because you are young and blind can you speak so heartlessly. Do you not see, it is because I cannot do for her, that I want now to do for you? I want it with all my soul for her sake, as well as yours! I wish to undo, as well as I can, the bitter wrong." Devant moaned.
"Cap'n Billy did that for you, long ago. Your silence must be his reward!" Janet's face shone.
"Can you conceive," asked Devant hoarsely, "what you are giving up?"
"Yes." Now the shining eyes were misty. "Over on the dunes, after Billy told me and I had chosen my course, I did think of the other way, just as I used to imagine things when I was a lonely little girl, impossible things, you know! I thought of books, and knowledge, and of the great beautiful world, and all the soft, pretty things that I know I should love. I did not think or imagine in my fancy that you would want to give them to me; but now that I know that, it doesn't make any difference. Every time I think of my Cap'n Billy, nothing else matters!" Two large tears rolled down the uplifted face.
Devant felt himself baffled, and anger arose within him.