"I see," said the Prince quietly. "And I'm convinced. Of course, then,
I shall suggest your leaving this."
"I want to."
"And putting yourself in the care of the Disthal."
Priscilla winced.
"Only her temporary care. Quite temporary. And letting her take you
back to Kunitz."
Priscilla winced again.
"Only temporarily," said the Prince.
"But my father would never--"
"Yes my dear, he will. He'll be delighted to see you. He'll rejoice."
"Rejoice?"
"I assure you he will. You've only got to do what I tell you."
"Shall you--come too?"
"If you'll let me."
"But then--but then--"
"Then what, my dear?"
She looked at him, and her face changed slowly from white to red and
red to white again. Fritzing's words crossed her mind--"If you marry
him you will be undoubtedly eternally lost," and her very soul cried
out that they were folly. Why should she be eternally lost? What
cobwebs were these, cobwebs of an old brain preoccupied with shadows,
dusty things to be swept away at the first touch of Nature's vigorous
broom? Indeed she thought it far more likely that she would be
eternally found.
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