“Yes,” she said, “we have seen the dawn. I did not dream it could be like that. There are no words, Adam. And I would see the day grow. But for my conscience’ sake I must dig.”
“Eve,” I said, “a conscience is a most distressing comrade. Does a governess have a conscience—a governess to the Rich?”
“Does not a fisherman?” she asked.
“He cannot afford it,” I replied. “It is a luxury not for the poor nor for the very rich.”
“But a governess is not very rich. And if she were, she yet might have a conscience. I have.”
“And does it plague you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Come, let us dig, and I will tell you.”
I, too, had somewhat that I would tell, and presently we were digging. And Eve dug in silence, and gently, for she would not harm the clams.
“Well, Eve?” I said, when I was wearied of the silence.
She was so long in speaking that I feared she never would. “Adam,” she asked, at last, “are you a wise man?”