'One had simply to feel he was there, and therefore not indifferent. And the beauty of that misled me. But he's there as a protest.'
'Against my Life?' Mrs. Doyne wailed.
'Against any Life. He's there to save his Life. He's there to be let alone.'
'So you give up?' she almost shrieked.
He could only meet her. 'He's there as a warning.'
For a moment, on this, they looked at each other deep. 'You are afraid!' she at last brought out.
It affected him, but he insisted. 'He's there as a curse!'
With that they parted, but only for two or three days; her last word to him continuing to sound so in his ears that, between his need really to satisfy her and another need presently to be noted, he felt that he might not yet take up his stake. He finally went back at his usual hour and found her in her usual place. 'Yes, I am afraid,' he announced as if he had turned that well over and knew now all it meant. 'But I gather that you're not.'
She faltered, reserving her word. 'What is it you fear?'
'Well, that if I go on I shall see him.'
'And then———?'
'Oh, then,' said George Withermore, 'I should give up!'
She weighed it with her lofty but earnest air. 'I think, you know, we must have a clear sign.'
'You wish me to try again?'
She hesitated. 'You see what it means—for me—to give up.'
'Ah, but you needn't,' Withermore said.
She seemed to wonder, but in a moment she went on. 'It would mean that he won't take from me———' But she dropped for despair.
'Well, what?'
'Anything,' said poor Mrs. Doyne.
He faced her a moment more. 'I've thought myself of the clear sign. I'll try again.'
