"I did—long ago!"
"To think"—Travers was gaining control of himself; the shock, the readjustment, had been so sudden that sensation returned slowly—"to think, dear blunderer, of your coming among us all, striking your blow, and then rushing to your In-Place! But love is mightier than thou; mightier than all else!"
"Not mightier than honour—such honour as Margaret knows!" Then fiercely: "What right have I to my—joy, when she——"
"She told me that only by your happiness being consummated could she hope for peace."
Travers's voice was low and reverent.
"What—a girl she is!" Priscilla faltered.
"The All Woman."
"Yes, the All Woman."
The sun began to drop behind the tall hemlocks. Priscilla shivered in the arms that held her.
"Little girl, I wish I could wrap you in the old red cape you wore once, before the shrine."