But, then, it was not his affair, it was her own, between herself and God.

She was to be a sacrifice.

But it was God's sacrifice, not Paul Morel's or her own.

After a few minutes she hid her face in the pillow again, and said: "But, Lord, if it is Thy will that I should love him, make me love him--as Christ would, who died for the souls of men.

Make me love him splendidly, because he is Thy son." She remained kneeling for some time, quite still, and deeply moved, her black hair against the red squares and the lavender-sprigged squares of the patchwork quilt.