"Oh, there's nothing to say that will make things better; I know that.If you had not come I should never have known myself nor what I had been.It was like a thunderclap--the whole thing; it shook me off my feet before I saw what it meant--before I would acknowledge even to myself that--""That?" she questioned in a whisper, for he had bitten back the words.
"That I love you."
As he spoke she slipped suddenly to her knees and lay with her face hidden on the old log, while her smothered sobs ran in long shudders through her body.A murmur reached him presently, and it seemed to him that she was praying softly in her clasped hands;but when in a new horror of himself he made a movement to rise and slip away, she looked up and gently touched him detainingly on the arm.
"Oh, how unhappy--how unhappy you have been!" she said.
"It is not that I mind," he answered."If I could take all the misery of it I shouldn't care, but I have made you suffer, and for the sin that is mine alone."For a moment she was silent, breathing quickly between parted lips; then turning with an impulsive gesture, she laid her cheek upon the hand hanging at his side.
"Not yours alone," she said softly, "for it has become mine, too."Before the wonder of her words he stared at her with dazed eyes, while their meaning shook him slowly to his senses.
"Maria!" he called out sharply in the voice of one who speaks from a distance.
She met his appeal with a swift outward movement of her arms, and, bending over, laid her hands gently upon his head.
"Mine, too, Christopher--mine, too," she repeated, "for I take the blame of it, and I will share in the atonement.My dear, my dear, is love so slight a thing that it would share the joy and leave the sorrow--that it would take the good and reject the evil? Why, it is all mine! All! All! What you have been I was also; what I am to-day you will be.I have been yours since the first instant you looked upon me."With a sob he caught her hands and crushed them in his own.
"Then this is love, Maria?"
"It has been love--always."
"From the first--as with me?"
"As with you.Beloved, there is not a wrong on this earth that could come between us now, for there is no room in my heart where it might enter.There can be no sin against love which love does not acknowledge."Falling apart, their hands dropped before them, and they stood looking at each other in a silence that went deeper than words.
She felt his gaze enveloping her in warmth from head to foot, but he still made no movement to draw nearer, for there are moments when the touch of the flesh grows meaningless before the mute appeal of the spirit.In that one speechless instant there passed between them the pledges and the explanations of years.
Suddenly the light flamed in his face, and opening his arms, he made a single step toward her; but melting into tears, she turned from him and ran out into the road.
CHAPTER III.Will's Ruin Blinded by tears, she went swiftly back along the road into the shadows which thickened beyond the first short bend.Will must be saved at any cost, by any sacrifice, she told herself with passionate insistence.He must be saved though she gave up her whole life to the work of his redemption, though she must stand daily and hourly guard against his weakness.He must be saved, not for his own sake alone, but because it was the one way in which she might work out Christopher's salvation.As she went on, scheme after scheme beckoned and repelled her; plan after plan was caught at only to be rejected, and it was at last with a sinking heart, though still full of high resolves, that she turned from the lane into a strip of "corduroy road," and so came quickly to the barren little farm adjoining Sol Peterkin's.
Will was sitting idly on an overturned wheelbarrow beside the woodpile, and as she approached him she assumed with an effort a face of cheerful courage.
"Oh, Will, I thought you'd gone to work.You promised me!""Well, I haven't, and there's an end of it," he returned irritably, chewing hard on a chip he had picked up from the ground; "and what's more, I shan't go till I see the use.It's killing me by inches.I tell you I'm not strong enough to stand a life like this.Drudge, drudge, drudge; there's nothing else except the little spirit I get from drink.""And that ruins you.Oh, don't, don't.I'll go on my knees to you; I'll work for you like a servant day and night; I'll sell my very clothes to help you, if you'll only promise me never to drink again.""You a servant!" said Will, and laughed shortly while he looked her over with raised eyebrows."Why, your stockings would keep me in cigarettes for a week."A flush crossed Maria's face, and she glanced down guiltily, letting her black skirt fall above the lace upon her petticoat.
"I have bought nothing since coming home," she responded presently with quiet dignity; "these belong, with my old luxuries, to a past life.There were a great many of them, and it will fortunately take me a long time to wear them out.""Oh, I don't begrudge them," returned Will; a little ashamed of his show of temper; "fine clothes suit you, and I hope you will squeeze them out of grandpa all you can.It's as good a way for him to spend his money as any other, and it doesn't hurt me so long as he'll never let me see the colour of a cent.""But your promise, dear? Will you promise me?"He lifted his sullen face toward her kind eyes, then turning away, kicked listlessly at the rotting chips.
"What's the use in promising? I wouldn't keep it," he replied.
