Gilian smote her hands together. "So Elspeth would have loved that! So the smothered God in you loves that!"
"It is the God in me that will punish him!"
"Is it—is it, Glenfernie?"
He made a wide gesture of impatience. "Cold—languid—pithless! You, Robin, Strickland, Alison Touris—"
Gilian looked at her basket of marigolds, pinks, and pansies. "That word death.... I bring these here, but Elspeth is with me everywhere! There is a riddle—there is a strange, huge mistake. She must solve it, she must make that port of all ports—and you and I must make it.... It is a hard, heroic, long adventure!"
"I speak of the pine-tree in the blast, and such as you would give me pansies! I speak of the eagle at the crag-top in the storm, and you offer butterflies!"
"Ah, then, go and kill her lover and the man who was your friend!"
Glenfernie rose from the step, in his face strong anger and denial. He stood, seeking for words, looking down upon the seated woman and her flowers. She met him with parted lips and a straight, fearless look.
"Will you take half the flowers, Glenfernie, and put them for Elspeth?"
"No. I cannot go there now!"