"Did women ever love them?"
Phebe was silent.
"Do not talk to me of the Spirit," Ludovic pleaded. "I am a long way from that. At least I am not a hypocrite—not yet. Wait till I am a 'trusty,' scheming for a pardon. Can you not give me one word of simple human comfort? There are just forty minutes more."
"What can I say?"
"Tell me this—and oh, be careful! Could you, if it were permitted a criminal like me to expiate his sin in the world among living men, in human relations with them—could we ever meet? Could you say 'thee' to me, not as to an afflicted person or a child? Am I to be only a text, another instance"—
"Many would not blame you. Neither do I blame you, not knowing that life or those people," said Phebe. "But there was One who turned away from the evil-speakers, and wrote upon the sand."
"But those evil-speakers spoke the truth."
"Can a lie be stopped by a pistol-shot? But we need not argue."
"No; I see how it is. I shall be to you only another of the wretched sons of Cain."
"I am thy sister," she said, and gave him her hand.