He raged at her. “How often have I taught you not to be afraid of what women do or do not! It is woman who will be the last slave on the free earth; and it is because she want to be slave. I will not have you, my Gorgas, be like all ze others! Go, and be!”
“But he is in Boston,” she faltered. She knew his itinerary by heart.
“Go to him, ma fleurie. Lives have been lost through pride, through not saying the word when it is time. Boston is not yet Babylon, but for you, mein Liebschen, there it is zat ze tower to Heaven is. Go to him.”
“I know just what I shall say,” she laughed. The natural tint of health was back in her face. “I have said it so often to myself.”
“Of course you have!” he agreed heartily. “And you will say it over again for many years. And the speeches he will say to you! Himmel! What a dam will burst and drown all the little valleys when one of zese Puritans go loose! Zey try hard all the life to live like Saint Acetum, the Vinegar Saint who is always repairing ze roof of ze Heaven; and when zey topple over and fall, it is a great distance!... You will be eaten alive, my Gorgas; and it is a very pleasant experience, vairy pleasant and good!”
And that night a happy, exulting young woman, charged with uncalculable joy, strode across the lawn and through the orchard, with never a fear nor a despair, those sad parents of failure.
XXVIII
THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
AT Boston Allen Blynn was preparing to loaf about the old town at his ease until the door should open for his second lecture in that city. At eleven o’clock he was on his knees at the bed; he could not quite make up his mind which was the easiest pair of shoes for walking.
A knock at his door, the deferential tap of a well-feed “bell-hop” brought his cheery, “Come!” but he did not look around.
“Good morning, Professor,” greeted Gorgas, fresh and radiant.