He hastened on
lest she should interrupt him.
"Don't you suppose that a priest may know what it is to worship the
very ground a woman walks on? Don't you suppose he has had his heart
beat till it suffocated him just because her fingers touched his or her
gown brushed him? A man is a man after all, and the dreams that come to
one are much the same as come to another. The difference is that the
priest has to tear his very heart out, and turn his back on all that
other men may find delight in."
Berenice looked at him with shining eyes, not undimmed, he thought, by
tears.
"If you really care for her so much," she said softly, "you can give
only a divided heart to your work. It is better to own that to
yourself, isn't it?"
"For her?" he echoed.
"Oh, there must be somebody," she returned hastily, her color coming.
"No matter about that."
"But think of giving up!" he cried, leaning toward her. "Even those who
believe nothing despise a renegade priest."
"That's of less consequence than that he should ruin his life and
despise himself."
He held out his uninjured hand impulsively.
"Berenice!" he whispered.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269