She was plaiting grass at the moment to make a hat for herself. Standing above her, he looked down, wondering at her contentment.
“But you’ll go too?” he asked.
“No ... I couldn’t do that, Philip ... not just now—in the very midst of our work, at a time like this, Swanson couldn’t manage alone and we’d lose all we’d gained. I’m strong enough, but you must go.”
“I won’t go ... alone.”
She went on plaiting without answering him, and he said at last, “It doesn’t make any difference. I’m no good here. I’m only a failure. I’m better off dead.”
She still did not cease her plaiting.
“That’s cowardly, Philip, and wicked. God hears what you say.”
He turned away dully. “I’d go to the coast if you’d go.”
“I can’t go, Philip.... God means us to stay.”
The dazed look vanished suddenly in a blaze of fire. “God doesn’t care what happens to us!”