But still, reflect a minute.... O reflect! If you stayed where I
left you, I _should_ go back to you, and pretty soon, too: I know that I
should. Tell me, then--reflect well, and tell me--do you definitely
refuse to part with me?'
The answer was pretty prompt, cool, and firm:
'Yes; I lefuse.'
I left her then, took a turn down the path, and came back.
'Then,' said I, 'here are two matches in my grasp: be good enough to
draw one.'
_Now_ she was hit to the heart: I saw her eyes widen to the width of
horror, with a glassy stare: she had read of the drawing of lots in the
Bible: she knew that it meant death for me, or for her.
But she obeyed without a word, after one backward start and then a brief
hovering in decision of thumb and forefinger over my held-out hand. I
had fixed it in my mind that if she drew the shorter of the matches,
then she should die; if the longer, then I should die.
She drew the shorter....
* * * * *
This was only what I should have expected: for I knew that God loved
her, and hated me.
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