"
Bles hesitated, and before he found words Zora was saying:
"How white she is; she's as white as the lily, Bles; but--I'm sorry
she's white--Bles, what's purity--just whiteness?"
Bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still staring wide-eyed at the
picture, and her voice was earnest. She was now so old and again so much
a child, an eager questioning child, that there seemed about her
innocence something holy.
"It means," he stammered, groping for meanings--"it means being
good--just as good as a woman knows how."
She wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly:
"Not better--not better than she knows, but just as good, in--lying and
stealing and--and everything?"
Bles smiled.
"No--not better than she knows, but just as good."
She trembled happily.
"I'm--pure," she said, with a strange little breaking voice and
gesture. A sob struggled in his throat.
"Of course you are," he whispered tenderly, hiding her little hands in
his.
"I--I was so afraid--sometimes--that I wasn't," she whispered, lifting
up to him her eyes streaming with tears. Silently he kissed her lips.
From that day on they walked together in a new world. No revealing word
was spoken; no vows were given, none asked for; but a new bond held
them. She grew older, quieter, taller, he humbler, more tender and
reverent, as they toiled together.
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