"Don't do that, Anna," he said.
"Is it any harm, papa?"
"Your mother died sitting in that chair; her hands spread the shawl over it; it was the last work they did, Anna; it has never since been taken off."
I dropped the fringe; my touch seemed sacrilegious.
Near the chair was a small cabinet; it looked like an altar, or would have done so, had my father been a devotee to any religion requiring visible sacrifice. He opened it.
"Come hither, Anna,"—and I went.
Long, luxuriant bands of softly purplish hair lay within, upon the place of sacrifice.
"Sophie's is like this," I said.
"And Sophie wears one like unto this," said my father; and he took up a circlet of shining gold that lay among the tresses. "Sophie's marriage-ring was hallowed unto her. I gave it the morning she went out from me." He uttered these words with slow reverence of voice.
Why did self come up?