Rachel looked at her with forbearance; she was unchanged after all, and she was in need of pity and help like a child.
"You'll have to bear it, Eva; I have to."
"Then—" Eva dragged the words out—"you are wretched?"
"Why do you want to dwell on it? What good does it do? We've got to bear it."
Eva caught Rachel by both arms, holding her and looking at her. "Rachel, tell me, were you in love with Charter?"
Rachel recoiled, tried to drag herself away. "Why do you want to know? What right have you to ask?"
Eva clung to her. "I must know, I must!"
But Rachel made no response; instead she eluded her sister's grasp and went to the open door. She stood there, looking out past the young hemlocks and the maples, across a field of wheat, where a flock of crows skimming low over it showed black against the golden grain. Suddenly she hid her face in her hands, and her whole slender figure, shaken with emotion, quivered from head to foot.
"You needn't tell me," said Eva's voice behind her, "I know!"
There was a long silence. The hot, August sunshine filtered through the foliage of the maples and flecked the gravel path with gold; there was a dusky haze about the horizon, while the sky overhead was vividly blue. A faint, hot wind ran over the yellow grain in long, quivering waves and the vivid atmosphere seemed to pulsate and throb with heat.