"If he had been left to work out his life--" but he stopped, brought
suddenly to a sense of how far he had lost himself.
She too saw it. "Dr. Parkman,"--with a smile which put him far from
her--"_this_ is what you came to say? You think _I_ need any incitement?
You needn't, Dr. Parkman,"--with rising passion--"you needn't. Every
time I leave this room two things are different. I have more love for
Karl--more hate for his destroyers. And those two passions will feed upon
me to the end of my life!"
Instinctively he put out a protesting hand. It was too plain that it was
as she said.
"More love for Karl--more hate for his destroyers,"--she repeated it with
a passionate steadfastness as though it comprehended the creed of her
life.
"His--destroyers?" he faltered. "What do you mean--by that?"
And she answered, with a directness before which dissembling and evasion
crumbled away: "Read the answer in your own heart.
"And if you cannot look into your own heart," she went on, unsparingly,
"if your own heart has been shut away so long that it is closed even to
yourself, then look into your looking-glass and read the answer there.
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