It seemed to him long before she spoke—long enough for him to repeat again to himself what he had done—how that he, of all men, had made a burden that would break his shoulders, and had fettered his limbs for all his life's race—yet to be glad, too, that he had not shrunk from carrying what he had made, and had escaped coupling the craven with his other part.
"What do you mean?" she asked at last; and there was surprise in her tone.
"It shall be as you wish," he answered. "We'll go through with it together."
Though he was giving what she asked, she seemed hardly to understand.
"I can't let you go," he said; "and I suppose you can't let me go."
"But—but what'll happen?"
"God knows," said he. "We shall be a long way off, anyhow."
"In Omofaga, Willie?"
"Yes."