“No, you don’t, Perry. No one who’s not been through it could ever understand. Why should one _need_ any nerve to step out of hell? That’s all it is. Hell can’t follow—won’t even try to follow. There’s nothing to fear. I’ve everything to gain and I can’t lose. But I can’t take the plunge. . . . ‘But there _is_ no plunge,’ you’d say. I know. But then your soul’s your own. Mine isn’t my own, Perry. . . . And that’s why you can’t understand.”
“Never mind how I can. I do.” The strong, almost stern tone lifted up Joan’s heart. The flax was smoking. “You’re under a sort of spell—that’s all it is.”
“All. Your words betray you. Your soul, you say, isn’t your own. That’s pure fantasy—it must be. You’re under no physical restraint, and you’re mentally free. You can think out your way of escape—discuss it with me. You couldn’t do that if your soul wasn’t your own. You’re not even hypnotized. But because for years you’ve been hammered you think that you can’t hit back. The bare idea staggers you.” He leaned forward and set a hand on her arm. “_But you haven’t got to hit back_, Joan. Do get that into your head. Slipping out of the ring while he’s sleeping isn’t hitting him back.”
“But after, Perry, _after_ . . . Supposing——”
“There’d be no ‘after,’ dear. The spell ’d be broken. As you stood on the platform and watched the train’s lights fading, your confidence ’d come back pelting. You’d want to shout and sing. You’d wonder why on earth you’d stuck it so long. You’d find yourself laughing to think what a fool you’d been. You could afford to laugh, because you’d be free—_free_.”
“It’s the plunge,” she whimpered. “It’s taking the plunge, Perry. I’m afraid. If I’d someone to hold my hand . . . You know what I said just now. The sea doesn’t run so high when you’re not alone in the boat.”
Peregrine pushed back his hood and wiped his face. This was streaming with sweat.
“Could—could you take the plunge with me, Joan?”
“I mean, if I held your hand. You see, _you’re not alone_, Joan . . . not—alone—in the boat.”
Trembling with excitement, the man continued jerkily.
“All you’ve said of yourself you might have been saying of me. I’m in the same boat, Joan. I’ve been there for seven years. And I haven’t the nerve to plunge—either. I can preach, but I can’t practise. But I think I might save myself if I tried to save you.”