There was no longer any sound in the room. She had dropped her arms at her side and had come nearer to him.
"Thou canst not know the depth of human suffering, Father Johannes, for these things enter not into thy holy life—else couldst thou not pass thy days in prayer and passionless meditation."
"Passionless!" he cried, and was silent, pressing his hand, unconsciously, against the thorny cross on his breast.
"I have sent for thee again, Father, to ask a question which thou alone canst answer."
She lifted her troubled eyes to his, deep with her question that seemed the more terrible because her quiet voice still showed no trace of emotion.
"Thou, who knowest the ways of God——"
(He groaned aloud.)
"Hath He stricken me for any sin?"
Then suddenly the passion of her question flamed in her white face—she searched his, as if life or death lay in his answer.
From the hand upon his breast the blood trickled in slow drops, while he laid the other upon her head in benediction: