"The child and the river can bide awhile; bide you also awhile. It is a long time since we last met."
She grasped her throat with her hand. She was on the point of breaking down. His last words pierced her to the soul. With a superhuman effort she controlled herself and sat silent.
For a minute there was silence. He continued his walk up and down. Gradually his footfalls, which had been light all along, grew fainter and fainter until they became almost inaudible. Gradually his face, which had been perplexed, lost its troubled look and softened into a peaceful smile. It seemed as though he had ceased to be aware of her presence. He looked like a solitary man communing with himself and drawing solace from his thoughts. He looked as though he beheld some beatific vision that yielded heavenly content--as though a voice of calming and elevating melody were reaching him from afar off. When he spoke his tones were fine and infinitely tender, and sounded like a benediction. He saw his way clearly now.
"You risked everything to-night to get a glimpse of your child, a final look, to say a last farewell. You were willing to risk everything here; you were willing to risk hereafter everything that may be the fate of those who lay violent hands upon their own lives. Why need you risk anything at all, either for the boy's sake or in the hereafter, because of laying violent hands upon your life?"
"I do not understand you," she whispered, looking at him in awe. His appearance, his manner, his voice, did not seem of earth.
"Why not stay with your boy and fill your heart with him?"
"What?" she whispered, growing faint and catching the table for support.
"Why not stay with your boy and fill your heart with ministering to him?"
"What? Here? In this place?" she cried in a wavering voice, still no louder than a whisper.
"In this place. Why should you not stay with your child? There is no one so fit to tend and guard a little child as a mother."