Alfred turned, taking her hand. But the supreme moment had passed. Fancy was now herself again, or rather she had become what her will and conscience made her to appear—an outwardly calm young woman, who, having swiftly read her own soul, was seeking to read the soul of the man beside her.
Alfred answered hesitatingly:
"Mother's wonderful. I never quite understand her. I ain't said a word, but back of her dear mind is something."
"Are you going to tell her?"
Alfred squirmed a little, certain that Mrs. Yellam would oppose his going. And he could not reckon accurately what obedience he owed to a mother in such a matter. He said gently:
"Never mind that, Fancy. What do you say?"
He held her hand tightly, but sat beside her rigid as she was. Afterwards, again and again, she wondered what her reply would have been if her lover, at such a crisis, had appealed to her body instead of to her mind. If he had seized her in his arms, kissing her passionately, evoking a passionate response from her, exciting her physical senses, lulling to sleep her conscience, could she have resisted such an appeal?
It was not made. Did he deliberately leave her free to speak calmly, as he had spoken? Was he thinking of her? Was he thinking of his mother? Who could blame him if all thought were focussed upon himself? And his next words confirmed her suspicion that it was impossible for any man, at such a time, to wean consideration from issues so personal and so insistent.
"That's why I spoke to you about William Saint. If I go, Fancy, I must find a man to take my place, see? 'Taint likely as I'll find anybody who knows folk as I knows 'em. And if William Saint sneaks in, maybe I won't find what I leave when I come back."
He spoke very earnestly, gripping her hand. Her sympathy for him welled up, drowning all thoughts of self. Alfred had leapt to heights. She realised the extent of the sacrifice he might make. And she felt, instinctively, that the sacrifice would be made. A curious exaltation possessed her. Alfred had thrilled her soul. If he went, true patriotism, as Mr. Hamlin interpreted the elusive word, would be behind his going. And he looked so stolid, dear man, so unconscious of the spiritual forces stirring within him.