"It was born the night before Meredith's child. It survived against grave dangers—it had no care, really, for twenty-four hours."
"You—you think it will live?"
"Yes."
"Do you think—the grandmother will ever reclaim it?"
"No, my dear. She is very old. I do not know how old, but certainly she cannot last much longer. She is a strange creature, but I am confident she realizes all that she said."
"And she is right—it is the only way." Doris was now speaking more to herself than to Angela. It was as if she were arguing, seeking to convince her conservative self before she stepped out upon a new and perilous path.
"No one knowing! Then the start could be new. It is the knowing, expecting, and suggesting that do the harm. We may call it inheritance, but it may be that we evolve from our knowledge and fears the very thing we would avert if we were left free."
Sister Angela bent forward. She whispered as if she felt the necessity of secrecy.
"What do you mean?"
"Sister, can you not see? Suppose it were possible for me to take Merry's child without the knowledge of its inheritance from the father. Suppose this little mountain child were given its chance among people who did not know."