It was the true voice of the law; so on her lips would
the law itself have sounded. "It HAS touched you," she went on.
"It has done its office. It has made you all its own."
"So utterly without my knowing it?"
"So utterly without your knowing it." His hand, as he leaned to
her, was on the arm of her chair, and, dimly smiling always now,
she placed her own on it. "It's enough if I know it."
"Oh!" he confusedly breathed, as she herself of late so often had
done.
"What I long ago said is true. You'll never know now, and I think
you ought to be content. You've HAD it," said May Bartram.
"But had what?"
"Why what was to have marked you out. The proof of your law. It
has acted. I'm too glad," she then bravely added, "to have been
able to see what it's NOT."
He continued to attach his eyes to her, and with the sense that it
was all beyond him, and that SHE was too, he would still have
sharply challenged her hadn't he so felt it an abuse of her
weakness to do more than take devoutly what she gave him, take it
hushed as to a revelation. If he did speak, it was out of the
foreknowledge of his loneliness to come.
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