"A good way to punish criminals," said Dexter, bitterly. "To give them your love and your life, and make them happy."
"He would not be happy; he would be a wretched man through every moment of his life, and die a wretched death. Whatever forgiveness might come in another world, there would be none in this. Helen herself would wish me to be his friend."
"For the ultra-refinement of self-deception, give me a woman," said Dexter, with even deepened bitterness.
"But why do we waste time and words?" continued Anne. Then seeing him take up his hat and turn toward the door, she ran to him and seized his arm. "You are not going?" she cried, abandoning the subject with a quick, burning anxiety which told more than all the rest. "Will you not take me, as you promised, to Multomah?"
"You still ask me to take you there?"
"Yes, yes."
"What do you think a man is made of?" he said, throwing down his hat, but leaving her, and walking across to the window.
Anne followed him. "Mr. Dexter," she said, standing behind him, shrinkingly, so that he could not see her, "would you wish me to marry you when I love—love him, as I said, in those words which you have read, and—even more?" Her face was crimson, her voice broken, her hands were clasped so tightly that the red marks of the pressure were visible.
He turned and looked at her. Her face told even more than her words. All his anger faded; it seemed to him then that he was the most unfortunate man in the whole world. He took her in his arms, and kissed her sadly. "I yield, child," he said. "Think of it no more. But, oh, Anne, Anne, if it could but have been! Why does he have everything, and I nothing?" He bowed his head over hers as it lay on his breast, and stood a moment; then he released her, went to the door, and breathed the outside air in silence.
Closing it, he turned and came toward her again, and in quite another tone said, "Are you ready? If you are, we will go to the city, and start as soon as possible for Multomah."