"You must forgive me," she pleaded plaintively. "I reckon I've been
mighty bad with you, and you always so good to me; but--but, you see--it
hurts so."
"I know it hurts, dear; I know it does. But men and women must learn to
bear hurts in this world."
"Not hurts like this; they couldn't."
"Yes, even hurts like this. Bear and stand straight; be brave. After
all, Zora, no man is quite worth a woman's soul; no love is worth a
whole life."
Zora turned away with a gesture of impatience.
"You were born in ice," she retorted, adding a bit more tenderly, "in
clear strong ice; but I was born in fire. I live--I love; that's all."
And she sat down again, despairingly, and stared at the dull swamp. Miss
Smith stood for a moment and closed her eyes upon a vision.
"Ice!" she whispered. "My God!"
Then, at length, she said to Zora:
"Zora, there's only one way: do something; if you sit thus brooding
you'll go crazy."
"Do crazy folks forget?"
"Nonsense, Zora!" Miss Smith ridiculed the girl's fantastic vagaries;
her sound common sense rallied to her aid. "They are the people who
remember; sane folk forget. Work is the only cure for such pain."
"But there's nothing to do--nothing I want to do--nothing worth
doing--now."
"The Silver Fleece?"
The girl sat upright.
"The Silver Fleece," she murmured.
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