“Alas! I am still a little bewildered by my late captivity. I can’t see the bearings of things.”
“As allegory, you are as perfect as ever.”
“I seem to be a sort of involuntary Pilgrim’s Progress!” he exclaimed.
“Ah, indeed!” cried Hadria, “and how the symbolism of that old allegory would fit this subject!”
“With me for wretched hero, I suppose!”
“Your archetype;—with a little adaptation—yes, and wonderfully little—the Slough of Despond, Doubting Castle, the Valley of the Shadow of Death—they all fall into place. Ah! the modern Pilgrim’s Progress would read strangely and significantly with woman as the pilgrim! But the end—that would be a difficulty.”
“One for your sex to solve,” said the Professor.
When they arrived at the cottage the wails were dying away, and Hadria advised that they should leave well alone. So the baby’s victim somewhat reluctantly retired.
“After all, you see, if one has strength of purpose, one can achieve freedom,” he observed.
“At the expense of the affections, it would seem,” said Hadria.