"
His words were accompanied by the sound of the fishermen putting rollers
under the small schooner that had been selected. The old skipper,
Pierre, had begun to call out his orders. Josephine took her hands from
her face suddenly, and looked towards the busy men with such eager
hungry desire for the freedom they were preparing for her that it seemed
to Caius that at that moment his own heart broke, for he saw that
Josephine was not convinced but that she had yielded. He knew that
Mammy's presence on the journey made no real difference in its guilt
from Josephine's standpoint; her duty to her God was to remain at her
post. She had flinched from it out of mere cowardice--it was a fall.
Caius knew that he had no choice but to help her back to her better
self, that he would be a bastard if he did not do it.
Three times he essayed to speak; he had not the right words; then, even
without them, he broke the silence hurriedly:
"I think you are justified in coming with me; but if you do what you
believe to be wrong--you will regret it. What does your heart say?
Think!"
It was a feeble, stammered protest; he felt no dignity in it; he almost
felt it to be the craven insult seen in it by O'Shea, who swore under
his breath and glared at him.
Josephine gave only a long sobbing sigh, as one awakening from a dream.
She looked at the boat again, and the men preparing it, and then at
Caius--straight in his eyes she looked, as if searching his face for
something more.
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