"Our love, the one sacred thing of our very own," he pleaded, "is in peril." He saw it now. "Can you not see? Even if it is woman against woman, what right have you, Priscilla, to cloud and hurt our love?"
"It is not—woman against woman—any more." The words came sweetly, almost joyously; something like renunciation tinged them. "It is woman for woman until men will take us by the hands, trustingly, faithfully, and work with us for what belongs equally to us both!"
The radiance of the uplifted eyes frightened Travers. So might she look, he thought, had she passed through death and come out victorious.
"Now, just for a time," the tense, thrilling voice went on, "she and I—women—must stand alone, and do our best as we see it. It is no good leaving it to—to any man. I see that! And our love, yours and mine! Oh! dear man of my heart, that can never die or be hurt. It is yours, mine! God gave it. God will not take it away. God will not take Margaret's either. She will understand, and, even alone, far, far from her love, she will be true, as I will be. That is what it means to us!" Then she paused and smiled at Travers as across a widening chasm.
"I—am going now!"
"Going? My beloved—going—where?"
"To Margaret."
"You—dare not! You shall not! You are—mad!"
"No. I am—going, because, as things are, I cannot—trust you, even you! That is our penalty for the world's wrong. Long, long ago some one—oh! it was back in the days when I did not know what life meant—some one told me—never to let any one kill my ideal! No one ever has! It goes on before, leading and beckoning. I must follow. I do not know where he is, he who told me, but I know, as sure as I know that I shall always love you, that he is following his ideal, and living true and sure. Good night."
Unable to think or act, Travers saw Priscilla take up her still damp coat and hat. Like a man in a nightmare he saw her turn a deadly white face upon him, and then the door closed and he was alone in her little room!