No. Poor little Bebee,
why did God make you, or Chance breathe life into you? You are so far
away from us all. It was cruel. What harm has your poor little soul ever
done that, pure as a flower, it should have been sent to the hell of this
world?"
She clung to him, sobbing without sound. "You will come back? You will
come back?" she moaned, clasping him closer and closer.
Flamen's own eyes grew dim. But he lied to her: "I will--I promise."
It was so much easier to say so, and it would break her sorrow. So
he thought.
For the moment again he was tempted to take her with him--but, he
resisted it--he would tire, and she would cling to him forever.
There was a long silence. The bleating of the little kid in the shed
without was the only sound; the gray lavender blew to and fro.
Her arms were close about his throat; he kissed them again, and kissed
her eyes, her cheek, her mouth; then put her from him quickly and went
out.
She ran to him, and threw herself on the damp ground and held him there,
and leaned her forehead on his feet. But though he looked at her with wet
eyes, he did not yield, and he still said,--
"I will come back soon--very soon; be quiet, dear, let me go.
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