"You give all I've asked," said Grantley with cold politeness.
She looked round at young Blake with a pitiful smile.
"It's the only way, my dear. With this man what he is, it's the only way. I must leave you alone."
Blake leaned towards her with a passionate cry of pain. She reasoned gently with him.
"But you know the alternative—you've heard it. We can't help it. This man is capable of doing it, and he would find out a way. I don't see that we could do anything at all to stop him. Then when you heard it, it would be so terrible to you. You'd hate yourself. Oh, and, my dear, I think you'd hate me! And I couldn't bear that. No, you must be reasonable. There's no other way."
Blake hid his face in his hands. He made no further effort. He knew that her words were true.
Sibylla walked into the bedroom, leaving the two alone. Neither now moved nor spoke. The storm outside seemed to have abated, for the rain dashed no more against the windows, and the wind was not howling round the walls of the house. It was very still. Grantley Imason presently began to button his coat, and then to dust the wet off his hat with his coat sleeve.
Sibylla came back in her hat and cloak.
"We must get something to carry you," said Grantley. "I wonder if we could raise a cart here!"
"How did you come?"