"Whenever you wish," she answered.
"Let it be soon," he said. And then he broke out almost despairingly:
"I cannot bear this much longer. Lily, what can it mean? There is something too strange. Ever since you and I have been betrothed the curse that is laid upon me has been heavier, the cry of the child has been more incessantly with me. I hear it more plainly. It is nearer to me. It is close to me. In the night sometimes I start up thinking the child is even beside me on the pillow, complaining to me in the darkness. I stretch out my hand. I feel for its little body. But there is nothing—nothing but that cry of fear, of pain, of eternal reproach. Why does the spirit persecute me now as it never persecuted me before? Is it because it believes that you will make me happier? Is it because it wishes to deny me all earthly joy? Sometimes I think that, once we are actually husband and wife the cry will die away. Sometimes I think that then it will never leave me even for a moment. If that were so, Lily, I should die, or I should lose my reason."
He covered his face with his hands. He was trembling. Lily put her soft hand against his hands. A great light had come into her eyes as he spoke.
"Let us be married, Maurice," she said. "Perhaps the little child wants me."
He looked up at her and his dark eyes seemed to pierce her, hungry for help.
"Wants you?" he said. "How can that be? No, no. It cries against my thought of happiness, against my desire for peace."
"We must give it peace. We must lay it to rest."
"No one can do that. If I have not the power to redeem my deed of wickedness, how can you, how can any one living redeem it for me?"
Lily looked away from him. Her cheeks were burning with a blush. A tingling fire seemed to run through all her veins and her pulses beat.