She held her burning head‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas not everything plain? Was not everything clear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgiven sin. Emma‚Äôs 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‚ÅÝ‚Äîher 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!”
‚ÄúBles,‚Äù she choked, but her voice came stronger, ‚ÄúI know‚ÅÝ‚Äîall. Emma is a good girl. I helped bring her up myself and did all I could for her and she‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe is pure; marry her.‚Äù
His voice came slow and firm:
‚ÄúEmma? But I don‚Äôt love Emma. I love‚ÅÝ‚Äîsomeone else.‚Äù
Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that Washington girl then. She answered dully, groping for words, for she was tired:
“Who is it?”
“The best woman in all the world, Zora.”
‚ÄúAnd is‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe struggled at the word madly‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúis she pure?‚Äù
“She is more than pure.”
“Then you must marry her, Bles.”