"I hate you for coming," she said, almost under her breath.
"I don't care. I had to come."
"Why? Why?"
"I told you. I want a saviour. I'm down in the pit. I can't get out. You
can see that for yourself."
"Yes," she answered, "I can see that."
"Give me a hand, Viola, and--you'll make me do something I've never done,
never been able to do."
"What?" she half whispered.
"Believe there's a God--who cares."
She drew in her breath sharply. Something warm surged through her. It was
not like fire. It was more like the warmth that comes from a warm hand
laid on a cold one. It surged through her and went away like a travelling
flood.
"What are you saying?" she said in a low voice. "You are mad to come here
to-night, to say this to me to-night."
"No. It's just to-night it had to be said."
Suddenly she resolved to tell him. He was in the pit. So was she. Well,
the condemned can be frank with one another though all the free have to
practise subterfuge.
"You don't know," she said, and her voice was quiet now. "You don't know
why it was mad of you to come to-night. I'll tell you. I've come out here
and I'm not going back again."
He kept his eyes on hers, but did not speak.
"I'm going to stay out here," she said.
And she let her hand fall over the side of the boat till her fingers
touched the water.
"No," he said. "You can't do that."
"Yes. I shall do it. I want to hide my face in the water.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336