I know him. And I heard him speak of
you. Any woman might thank heaven for inspiring such words from a man. I
tell you this, I who am a priest: He loves you, and did love you from
the moment he first set eyes upon your face."
"I know," Mary answered simply, and with something of the humbleness of
a child rebuked by high authority. "He said that to me. But--no, I can't
tell you any more."
"That 'but' has told me everything. You sent him away?"
"Yes."
"And I know him well enough to be sure that he has tried to see you
again, to justify himself?"
"He has written. I sent back the letter. And he has wanted to speak,
but I have never let him. I thought it would be wrong."
"Then, my poor child, did you think it less wrong to send him to his
ruin?"
"To his ruin--I?"
"Because you believed him evil, you have roused evil in him, and driven
him to evil. I wish to read you no moral lecture on gambling; but for
him, for a man of his nature, it is a dangerous and powerful drug if
taken to kill pain. I have come to ask you to save him, since I believe
only you can do it."
"I?" she echoed, bitterly. "But I am a gambler! There's gambler's blood
in my veins. I was warned, and wouldn't listen. Now I know there's no
use struggling, so I go on. How can I save any one from a thing I do
myself--a thing I feel I shall keep on doing?"
"Because he loves you, you can save him; and because you love him, too."
She threw her head back, with the gesture of a fawn in flight.
Pages:
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338