"But I thought you didn't recognize that?"
"I said I didn't. But in here"—he tapped his fingers over the heart—"I did, and I do. You've brought me to see it."
"That's very noble, but you saw it for yourself—"
"Through a glass—darkly; now I can look at the thing in clear daylight, and see what I have to do."
She dropped into her chair again, looking up at him. He stood with his back to the fire, holding his head high, his bearing marked by a dogged, perhaps forced, serenity.
"But what can you do?" she asked, after considering his words. "You're so involved. All this business—and the people in South America—"
"Oh, there are ways and means. I haven't made plans, but I've thought, from time to time, of what I should do if I ever came to just this pass. The first thing would be to tell the few people who are most concerned, confidentially. Then I should go back to South America, and settle things give me your respect again—not even the little you've given me hitherto—and God knows that can't have been much. I could stand anything in the world—anything—rather than that you should come to that."
"But I shouldn't, when I myself had dissuaded you—"
"No, no; don't try. You'd be doing wrong. You've been to me so high and holy that I don't like to think you haven't the strength to go on to the end. I've got it, because you've given it me. Don't detract from your own gift by holding me back from using it. You found me a prisoner—or an escaped one—and I've been a prisoner all these years, the prisoner of something worse than chains. Now I'm going free. Look!" he cried, with sudden inspiration. "I'll show you how it's done. You'll see how easy it will be."
He moved to cross the room.