mother and his wife.

The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra’s whole being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have held out both hands and cried: “Take me and love me. I am David’s wife.” But she would not — she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness — both of God and man — kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child, being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.

“I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company,” she said slowly. “I am a stranger — an American.”