And now, oh, God! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that night
of death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul.
But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love;
and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster.
With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round her. Her head swam
again and the blood flashed in her eyes. She heard a calling in the
swamp, and the shadow of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming her
for her own, dragging her down, down.... She rushed through the swamp.
The lagoon lay there before her presently, gleaming in the
darkness--cold and still, and in it swam an awful shape.
She held her burning head--was not everything plain? Was not everything
clear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgiven
sin. Emma's was the pure soul which she must offer up to God; for it was
God, a cold and mighty God, who had given it to Bles--her Bles. It was
well; God willed it. But could she live? Must she live? Did God ask
that, too?
All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew tense, alert. She
heard no sound behind her, but knew he was there, and braced herself.
She must be true. She must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing.
"Bles," she called faintly, but did not turn her head.
"Zora!"
"Bles," she choked, but her voice came stronger, "I know--all.
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