" And then she turned on the doctor and cried:
"Go on--think it--think it! Think what you like! But I'll tell you the
truth. There was only once I did him any harm, and that wasn't my fault.
I never wanted to. I hated it. I told him I hated it. I didn't want him
to be that, like the others. And that was Valentine, too. And now--just
because of that I'm no use. And you'd said I might be, you'd said I might
be."
"And I say you shall be."
The wail died in Cuckoo's throat. The tears were arrested as by a spell.
Dr. Levillier had got upon his feet. All the truth and tenderness of his
heart was roused and quickened. He knew real passion, real grief, and
from that moment he knew and trusted the lady of the feathers. And by
the strength of her bitterness, even by the broken curses that would have
shocked so many of the elect of this world, he measured the width and
the depth of her possibilities. She had sent to damnation--what? The
vile cruelty, the loathsome, unspeakable, dastardly mercilessness of the
world. To damnation with it! That was the loud echo in his man's heart.
"That one night is nothing," he said. "Or rather it is something that you
must redeem. It is good to have to pay for a thing. It is that makes one
work.
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