She bowed her
head.
"Wh-a-a-t!" said Jonathan, in a tone of utter disgust, tempered only
by a remnant of incredulity.
"I didn't go on my knees to him," said Desire faintly.
"Oh, you didn't, didn't you? I believe you did," said the boy slowly,
with an accent of ineffable scorn, rising to his feet and drawing away
from his sister, as she seemed about to approach him.
Before the lad of sixteen, his elder sister, who had carried him in
her arms as a baby, and been his teacher as a boy, stood like a
culprit, quite abject. Finally she said:
"I didn't do it for myself. I did it for Aunt Lucy. The doctor said it
would kill her if she was kept awake another night, and there was no
other way to stop the mob. And so I did it."
"Was that the way?" said the boy, evidently staggered by this
unexpected plea, and seeming quite at loss what to say.
"Yes," said Desire, rallying a little. "You might know it was. Do you
think I'd do it any other way? I couldn't see Aunty die, could I?"
"No-o, darn it. I s'pose not," replied Jonathan slowly, as if he were
not quite sure. His face wore a puzzled expression, the problem
offered by this conflict of ethical obligations with caste sentiment
being evidently too much for his boyish intellect.
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