“Yes, you can. There should be nothing left, as you say, that you and I cannot say to each other. We have been through too much, we have seen too much, ever to let pride interfere between us again. And you can depend upon me to the end of creation. I’ll never let them distress you—never, never, never.”
“I know. And I have been one of the worst. I’m sorry, so terribly sorry.”
“You know.” She lifted her eyes, steadily at last, to meet his, and he saw their depths below depths of suffering.
Suddenly they clung together. And all the time his mind whirled against itself. How in God’s name, at his time of life, could any woman be doing this to him! Perhaps even now she was tricking him for a way out for herself. But he felt her shivering against him, felt her lips, and knew that was not true. For, together with her love for him, he felt an overwhelming despair in her that frightened him—as though she fully intended to go through with her mad confession. It was mad to have admitted anything! It was going to make his efforts to save her almost hopeless.
“We mustn’t,” he said huskily, trying to hold her off and only holding her closer. “We have other things to think of. It’s desperate. They’re waiting for us. In the first place you must retract whatever you have said, and we’ll try to clear you in the courts. Failing that, we’ll make a get-away—Timbuctu or the Gold Coast, it makes no difference to me. I’m as tired of the game as you are.”
“No—no—no,” she protested. “I won’t let you do that, ever. Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean to tell you how much I cared. Truly I didn’t. I only meant to say good-bye to you. I couldn’t deny myself that. I don’t understand how this other happened. I suppose because we both cared. I hadn’t an idea you did. You have been considerate in some ways, yes, but not really kind. But now I see what it’s been for you. You have been fighting it too, as I have. How cruel to know at the very moment of separation. For it _is_ good-bye. It can’t be anything else, for either of us. Please, no—don’t, don’t, don’t kiss me. I can’t bear it.”
“Be still. We are going to get you off, dear heart. You must be brave, that’s all; and help me.”
“No. I am not going to let you _try_ to get me off. We have you to think of now. Not me any longer. I am beyond being worried about. I never expected to escape the fruits of my sins as long as I have. That I happen to die innocent is a queer twist of fate, nothing more. I would have died really guilty of something within a month—a year. Who knows? And I’ve put up a good battle, as battles go in this world. I have just got around to surrender. I’m through. So it’s fare thee well, dear, forever and ever, instead of—of ‘they lived—.’” Her voice broke.