"It's a steamer going home," she said. "It's like your happiness—just a dull light moving uncertainly through darkness."
"You mustn't think that," he said gently.
"Oh, it's true," she persisted; "I can see it's true. I wanted to go away, but it was only discontent. If I had gone, it would have been the same. I should have been broken in the first struggle."
"To-morrow the wind will blow again, and you will see things in a different light. Nothing will matter then," he assured her.
"Do you think I should have succeeded if I had gone?" She turned toward him sharply while she waited for his answer.
He had seated himself again, and he paused a moment before he replied.
"I think you would have put your whole heart into your work," he said at last. "When we do that, we need not think of results—or fear them—need we?"
"I shall always feel that it was right for me to go," she said, after a pause. "The regret will remain."
"It is hard to say what is right, we owe allegiance in so many ways. A week ago your going was simply an interesting thought to me. Now I cannot bear to think of it."
She caught her breath sharply.