‘But I repudiate them,’ he said. ‘They have become meaningless. You are the only thing which means anything to me. Norah! Norah! Thou beside me singing in the wilderness! What else is there? What else?’
His passion had lifted him upon his feet: he stood there before her, strong and masterful. He was accustomed always to get his way: he would get it now in spite of the swift-flowing tide against which his impulse struggled, in spite of her who was sailing up on the tide.
‘There is nothing else,’ she said. ‘But there is not that.’
He knelt down on the ground by her.
‘But, my darling,’ he said, ‘it is not our fault. It happened like that. God gave us hearts, did He not, and are we just to disobey what our hearts tell us? We belong to each other. What else can we do? Are we to eat our hearts out, you on one side of the table in that hell upstairs, I on the other? Don’t tell me that is the way out!
She raised her hands and let them lie with strong pressure on his shoulders.
‘No, there is no way out there,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t stand that, nor could you. But there is a way out, and you and I are going to take it.’
Again the infinite pity of her strength welled up and dimmed her eyes.
‘I am going away,’ she said. ‘I shall leave Bracebridge to-night. It’s all settled.’
He shook himself free of her hands.