She paused to consider how she should say what was in her mind. It would be difficult. But it must be said before—before it was too late.
“Billy, dear,” she began, “lying here and trying to think things out an idea has come to me. I think I know why this trouble has visited us. Have you ever thought why?”
“I have thought of only one thing, Jennie, for so long that it seems like years.”
“I know, dear, I know. And that is just it. It’s wrong, wrong for people who belong to a—a—well, a cause—like the air, to think only of themselves, as we have done. And this is the punishment. It is, Billy. I am sure. We loved the air, we were dedicated to it, and then we turned our coats and were ready to desert it for each other. And we deserve to be punished! Perhaps I am light-headed from being sick. Perhaps this sounds very foolish. But I feel it so strongly, dear. I think it must be true.”
Cobb sat silent, twisting his stubby fingers miserably.
“Does this hurt you—very much—Billy?” she questioned anxiously.
“Go on, Jennie. Never mind if it does,” he said with an effort.
“Then I’ll finish,” she said. “It all seems to have moved along so inevitably. The air needed you. Then I won you away—even if I tried not to. And the air must have you back. So—so I am being—being put—out of the way.”
“No, Jennie! No!” he cried.
“Perhaps not, dear. Perhaps not. But wouldn’t it be almost better so? Have you thought what our life will be—if I do—get well? Either way, whether you live for me or for the air—suffering for both of us, Billy! I never knew my mother well. But daddy has told me. They suffered terribly. And in the end it came to—to this that has come to us.”