nd fears and fits of terror; of Basterga's discovery of the
secret and the cruel use he had made of it; of the slow-growing
resignation, the steadfast resolve, the onward look to something, beyond
that which the world could do to her, that had come to be hers. With her
face hidden on his breast she told him of her thoughts upon her knees,
of the pain and obloquy through which, if the worst came, she knew she
must pass, and of her trust that she would be able to bear them;
speaking in such terms, so simply, so bravely, and with so lofty a
contemplation, that he who listened, and had been but a week before a
young man as other young men, grew as he listened to another stature,
and thought for himself thoughts that no man can have and remain as he
was, before the tongues of fire touched his heart.

And then again, once--but that was in the darkening of the Friday
evening when the wound in her cheek burned and smarted and recalled the
wretched moment of infliction--she showed him another side; as if she
would have him know that she was not all heroic. Without warning, she
broke down; overcome by the prospect of death, she clung to him, weeping
and shuddering, and begging him and imploring him to save her. To save
her! Only to save her! At that sight and at those sounds, under the
despairing grasp of her arms about his neck, the young man's heart was
red-hot; his eyes burned. Vainly he held her closer and closer to him;
vainly he tried to comfort her. Vainly he shed tears of blood. He felt
her writhe and shudder in his arms.

And what could he do? He strove to argue with her. He strove to show her
that accusation of her mother, condemnation of her mother, dreadful as
they must be to her, so dreadful that he scarcely dared speak of them,
need not involve her own condemnation. She was young, of blameless life,
and without enemies. What could any cast up against her, what adduce in
proof of a charge so dark, so improbable, so abnormal?

For answer she touched the pulsing wound in her cheek.

"And this?" she said. "And the child that I killed?"--with a bitter
laugh unlike her own. "If they say so much already, if they say that
to-day, what will they say to-morrow? What will they say when they have
heard her ravings? Will it not be, the old and the young, the witch and
her brood--to the fire? To the fire?"

The spasm that shook her as she spoke defied his efforts to soothe her.
And how could he comfort her? He knew the thing