The man smiled oddly; the look pa.s.sed.

"I have merely played the game fair," he explained dispa.s.sionately, "or tried to, according to my standard. Like yourself, I don't want to hate myself in the future, whatever comes. The hate of others--I'm indifferent to that, Elice."

"And still you love me."

"I shall never care for another, never. The time when I could, if it ever existed, is past."

The white hands dropped helplessly into the girl's lap.

"I thought I understood you," she said, "and yet, after all--"

"We live but once," gently. "I wish you to be happy, the happiest possible. Does that help?"

"Yes, but--" In a panic the face, the hands, retreated back into the shadow again. "Oh, I'm afraid of you once more, afraid of you," she completed.

A moment the man sat still; then came his unexpected deliberate smile.

"No; not afraid. I repeat you know me absolutely, and we're never afraid of things we know. I explained once before that that's why I went through the detail of telling you everything. You're not afraid of me in the least, any more than I am afraid of you."

"No?"

The smile still held.

"No."

"And still--"

"I repeat, it isn't fear of me that prevents your answering." Like a flash the smile vanished. Simultaneously the voice dropped until it was very low, yet very steady. "You love me in return, Elice, girl. It isn't that!"

From the darkness silence, just silence.

"I say, you love me in return. Can you deny it?"

Still not an answering sound nor a motion.

Roberts drew a long breath. His big eloquent hands hung free. "Shall I put in words the exact reason you won't answer, to prove I know?" he asked.

"Yes." The voice was just audible.

A moment Roberts paused. "It's because you are afraid, not of me, but of Steve Armstrong: afraid of the way the Lord fashioned him. Elice, come out into the light, please. We must face this thing. You're not his mother, and you don't love him otherwise. Tell me, is a sentiment dead greater than one living? Will you, must you, sacrifice the happiness of two for the happiness of one? Answer me, please."

An instant the girl hesitated; obediently she came out into the light, stood there so, her hand on the pillar of the porch. She did not glance at her companion, did not dare to do so.

"I repeat, I can't answer you yet," she said simply. "It's bitter, cruel to you, I know, and to myself; but it would be infinitely worse if--if I made a mistake." She paused, while a restless hand swept across her face. "I can't help feeling that I'm to blame a good deal already, that if I hadn't changed, and shown the change--" She sat down helplessly, the sentence incomplete. "Oh, I can't bear to think of it. It drives me mad.

To feel you have the responsibility of another's very soul on your hands, and to have failed in that trust--"

"Elice!"

"Don't stop me. It's true. If I had married him years ago when he first wished me to do so he'd never have gone down. I cared for him then, or fancied I did so; and I could have held him up. But instead--"

"Elice! I won't listen. You're morbid and see ghosts where nothing exists. You're no more to blame for being human and awakening than lightning is to blame when it strikes." He stood up, suddenly. "Besides, the past is dead. To attempt to revive it is useless. The future alone matters; and it's that I wish to talk about. I can't bear to think of going away and leaving you as you are now. It's preposterous. If you cared for Steve I shouldn't insist for a moment, or trouble you again so long as I lived; but you don't care for him." He took a step forward, and stopped where she must look him in the face. "You don't care for him, that way, do you, Elice?" he asked.

Straight in the eyes the girl answered his look. But the lips spoke nothing.

"And you do love me, love me, don't you, girl?"

Still not a word; only that same steady look.

"Elice,"--the man's hands were on her shoulders, holding her immovable,--"answer me. This is unbearable. Don't you love me? Say it. I must know."

Bit by bit the long lashes dropped, until the dark eyes were hid. "I can't say it yet," she said, "you know that. Don't compel me to."

"Cannot or will not?"

Still no answer, merely silence.

Just noticeably the man's big hands tightened their grip. "I can make you very happy, Elice, girl," he voiced swiftly; "I know it; because I have the ability and I love you. I'll take you away, to any place in the world you wish to go, stay as long as you wish, do whatever you choose. I'll give you anything you want, anything you ever wanted. I have the power to do this now, and I'll have more power in future. Nothing can stop me now or prevent, except death alone. Say the word and I'll not go West to-morrow. Instead, we'll begin to live. We're both starved for the good things that life has to offer. We'll eat our fill together, if you but say the word. We've wasted years--both of us, long, precious years.

There's a big, big debt owing us; but at last, at last--"

"Darley Roberts!"

The man suddenly halted, pa.s.sive.

"You don't realize what you're doing, what you're saying. It's unworthy of you."

A moment longer the grip of the big hands still clung as it was. They dropped, and the man drew back.

"Unworthy?" He looked at her steadily. "Can you fancy I was trying to--buy you? I thought you realized I love you."

"I do. But--you're only making it harder for me--to do right."

"Do right?" Once more the echo. "Right!" He laughed, as his companion had never before heard him laugh. "I wonder if it is right to make a certain cripple of one human being on the chance of making a real weakling less weak? Right to--" a sudden tense halt. "I beg your pardon," swiftly. "I didn't mean that. Forget that I said it." He stooped to pick up his cap and gauntlets. When he came forward once more he was himself again, as he would be from that moment on.

"Don't fancy for a minute I mean to hurt you, or to make it harder for you now," he said steadily; "but this is the end, you realize, the turning of the ways--and I must be sure. You still can't give me an answer, Elice?"

The girl did not look at him this time, did not stir.

"No, not even yet."

A pause, short this time.

"And you won't reconsider about going to work for a living, won't let me help, as a friend, merely as a friend? You know me too well to misunderstand this. It would mean nothing absolutely to me now to help, and would not alter our friendship, if you wish, in the least. Won't you let me do this trifle for you if I ask it?"

Resolutely the girl shook her head, very steadily.

"I understand and appreciate," she said; "but I can't."

A moment longer the man waited. He extended his hand. "There's nothing more to be said, then, I fancy, except good-bye."