"
Zora glanced at her quickly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Vanderpool. "I thought I knew him. He seemed an
ordinary, rather priggish, opinionated country boy, and I wrote and
said--Oh, I said that the world is the world; take it as it is. You
wrote differently, and he obeyed you."
"No; he did not know it was I. I was just a Voice from nowhere calling
to him. I thought I was right. I wrote each day, sometimes twice,
sending bits of verse, quotations, references, all saying the same
thing: Right always triumphs. But it doesn't, does it?"
"No. It never does save by accident."
"I do not think that is quite so," Zora pondered aloud, "and I am a
little puzzled. I do not belong in this world where Right and Wrong get
so mixed. With us yonder there is wrong, but we call it wrong--mostly.
Oh, I don't know; even there things are mixed." She looked sadly at Mrs.
Vanderpool, and the fear that had been hovering behind her mistress's
eyes became visible.
"It was so beautiful," said Zora. "I expected a great thing of you--a
sacrifice. I do not blame you because you could not do it; and yet--yet,
after this,--don't you see?--I cannot stay here."
Mrs. Vanderpool arose and walked over to her. She stood above her, in
her silken morning-gown, her brown and gray sprinkled hair rising above
the pale, strong-lined face.
"Zora," she faltered, "will you leave me?"
Zora answered, "Yes.
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