He opened the gate for her, for they stood now before the parsonage—as she passed through he said, more gently, “I am sorry that I threw your cross away; it was a violent, and passionate, and childish act. Besides, you prized it—for your mother’s sake; you love your mother. And no good will ever come of its being torn away from you. There was no cause for treating you so.”
“Yes, there was, George—don’t mind—good has come of it already.”
“Oh, Ella—how?”
“I’m ready, this moment, to bear another cross, to take it up and bear it, if God will.”
“Woe to the human hand that lays a heavier cross on your shoulder than that I threw away from you.”
“Good-night, George.”
“Good-night, Ella.”
“George, you don’t believe I feel as you say people do about being seen walking or talking—with—you? I am, indeed, very proud of you, and—”
“Yes—I don’t doubt it, since you say so—you’re proud of me, though I can’t see why. But you’re not proud for me, nor with me.”
“Yes—I am.”