And again he repeated the words, "What a waste!" The youth looked up, thinking himself addressed, but the bishop saw only the girl. It was as if she rose and stood there, dominant in the sweet power of her girlish self-sacrifice, appealing to him to help save this soul. Somehow, at the moment, he failed to appreciate the beauty of such giving. Almost it seemed to him a pity Frale had thus far succeeded in evading his pursuers. It would have saved her in spite of herself had he been taken.
But now the situation was forced upon the bishop, either to give him up, which seemed an arbitrary taking into his own hands of power which belonged only to the Almighty, or to shield him as best he might, giving heed to the thought that even if in his eyes the value of the girl was immeasurably the greater, yet the youth also was valued, or why was he here?
He lifted his head and saw Frale's eyes fixed upon him sadly—almost as if he knew the bishop's thoughts. Yes, here was a soul worth while. Plainly there was but one course to pursue, and but one thread left to hold the young man to steadfast purpose. Using that thread, he would try. If he could be made to sacrifice for Cassandra some of his physical joy of life, seeking to give more than to appropriate to himself for his own satisfaction—if he could teach him the value of what she had done—could he rise to such a height, and learn self-control?
The argument for repentance having come back to him void, the bishop began again. "You tell me Cassandra has given you her promise? What are you going to do about it?"
"Hit's 'twixt her an' me," said the youth proudly.
"No," thundered the bishop, all the man in him roused to beat into this crude, triumphant animal some sense of what Cassandra had really done. "No. It's betwixt you and the God who made you. You have to answer to God for what you do." He towered above him, and bending down, looked into Frale's eyes until the boy cowered and looked down, with lowered head, and there was silence.
Then the bishop straightened himself and began pacing the room. At last he came to a stand and spoke quietly. "You have Cassandra's promise; what are you going to do about it?"
Frale did not move or speak, and the bishop felt baffled. What was going on under that passive mask he dared not think. To talk seemed futile, like hammering upon a flint wall; but hammer he must, and again he tried.
"You have taken a man's life; do you know what that means?"