"I will deceive no one," she said. "I can do nothing here. In winter I shall have to go on the township again. I must go to earn my living."
"Evil will come of it. Your influence will not be for good. You will spread a moral pestilence. Once I took a long journey in the cars; the car was very dirty, and there was much soot and smoke, and the black coat I wore absorbed the dust and grime. Well, it lost nothing of its good appearance; it was a black coat, like other black coats—to look at. But listen! One day soon after, in a crowded train, I sat next a woman with a white dress on. What was the result? Her dress was smirched and darkened where her sleeve touched mine. So it was always. That coat defiled everything it touched, until I put it from me. It was a good coat, and I could ill afford to do it, but still less could I afford to pollute whatever I touched. It is thus with you. Out of evil, evil will come. We do not gather figs of thistles. Your life has been evil; your heart is bad. Can good emanate from this? You will go forth to the world in fair seeming, no trace of your sin visible to the eye, and you will spread the contagion of your sin. Listen to me, Myron Holder. Do not dare go forth in silence! Do not dare conceal your real nature! Do not dare! Say to each man and woman with whom you have more than the most brief association, 'Lo, I am one who has sinned; I have been a mother but not a wife!'"
Myron gazed at him with horror-wide eyes. His were implacable.
"Am I so dreadful?" she said. "Oh, must I proclaim my shame aloud?"
"You must," he said. "What! Would you deny your child on earth and hope to meet him in Heaven?"
She let fall her face in her hands. There was silence for a space, then she raised her head.
"Very well," she said, "I will do as you say."
She turned from his side, and made her way down the church. A strange and new distinction of manner seemed to have enveloped her—a dignity of absolute isolation. She passed through the door, and for the last time Mrs. Deans' eyes looked into hers. That steady gaze lasted some seconds, and then Myron Holder went out into the night.
But in that last meeting of eyes Myron Holder's were not the ones that faltered. As Cain went forth with his curse, did his eyes fall before any living face? He was subject only to fear of his fate. Myron Holder feared only the years she had to live.
That night, in her cottage, Myron Holder sat sewing, fashioning a tiny bag out of one of My's misshapen aprons. When completed, she put something carefully in it and hung it round her neck, concealing it beneath her gown. She folded up her few articles of clean clothing and tied them up, with My's little tin mug, into a neat parcel. She took a last look around the silent rooms, and then went out, closing the door gently behind her, as if heedful not to awaken one who slept.