For one moment her head rested against the rock, languid and nerveless. Then she stood erect.
"I will not go, Paul."
He caught her arm; but she shook him off, and held her hand to her side to keep down an actual physical pain that some women suffer when their hearts are tried. Her eyes, it may be, were wakened into a new resolve. It was useless for him now to appeal to feeling or passion: he had left the decision to her reason,—to her faith. They were stronger than he.
"I will not go, Paul."
No answer.
"I have no words like you,"—raising her hands to her head,—"but I feel you are wrong in what you say."
She tried to collect herself, then went on.
"It is true that women sell themselves. I did it,—to escape. I was taught wrong, as girls are. It's true, Paul, that women are cramped and unhappy through false marriages, and that there are cursed laws in society that defraud the poor and the slave."
She stopped, pale and frightened, struggling to find utterance, not being used to put her thought into words. He watched her keenly.
"But it is not true, Paul,"—with choked eagerness,—"that this life was given to us only to develop our souls, to be free and happy. That will come after,—in heaven. It is given here only to those who pray for it. There's something better here."