" What right had
she to leave it rusting in its scabbard, turning aside from the pathway
pointed out to her because of one weak, useless life, crouching in her
way. It was not as if she were being asked to do evil herself that good
might come. The decision had been taken out of her hands. All she had
to do was to remain quiescent, not interfering, awaiting her orders. Her
business was with her own part, not with another's. To be willing to
sacrifice oneself: that was at the root of all service. Sometimes it was
one's own duty, sometimes that of another. Must one never go forward
because another steps out of one's way, voluntarily? Besides, she might
have been mistaken. That picture, ever before her, of the woman pausing
with the brush above her tongue--that little stilled gasp! It may have
been but a phantasm, born of her own fevered imagination. She clung to
that, desperately.
It was the task that had been entrusted to her. How could he hope to
succeed without her. With her, he would be all powerful--accomplish the
end for which he had been sent into the world.
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