"Cruel? No! They've been most—most gentle. I've come to see how wrong it was."
"Yet you're here!" He could not resist the retort.
"For the last time—to say good-bye. And if you really care at all, you must do as I wish."
"But—I may write to you?"
"No, no, you mustn't."
"You can't stop me thinking about you."
"I shan't think of you. I shall pray to be able not to. I'm sure I can be strong."
She had got this idea in her head. It was just the sort of idea that Sibylla might have got. She wanted to immolate herself. For such views in Sibylla Jeremy had always had denunciations ready. He had no denunciation now—only a despairing puzzle.
"I can't accept that, and I won't! Do you love me?"
"I'm going to keep my promise to say nothing. I've told you what I must do and what you must. I made up my mind—and—and then I went to the Sacrament to-day."