And now, as she held back, and he
saw what she saw and could not say, he asked for her, slowly: "Is it any
more useless than love?"
CHAPTER XXXIX
ASH HEAP AND ROSE JAR
As she broke then to the sobs for which he had hoped, something of
tremendous force stirred within the man; and he felt that if he could
bring her from the outer darkness where she had been carried, back to the
things which were her soul's own, that his own life, his whole life, with
all of the dark things through which it had passed, would have found
justification. He had tried to save Karl, and failed. But there was left
Ernestine. And it seemed to him--he saw it simply, directly,
unquestioningly--that after all he would not have failed Karl if he could
do what it was in his heart to do now for her.
Looking at her bowed head he saw it all--the complete overthrow, the rich
field of life rendered barren waste. Barren waste--but was that true for
Ernestine? Did there not remain for her the scent of the field? The
memory of that glorious, luxuriant growth? With _him_ barren waste--but
for her did there not grow in the field of life some things which were
everlasting? With the quickness with which he saw everything he saw that
it was the picture of his own barrenness could show her most surely the
things which for her remained.
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