"You must not!"
"I must. Do you think I am only a fair-weather girl? I gave you my promise when all was different. I would rather die than break it now."
"But I release you! I set you free! Everything has altered. Oh, can't you put yourself in my place? I should deserve shooting if I married you now. I release you because I must."
"And I refuse to be released."
They regarded one another with hopeless faces. Their eyes were dim with love—yet here they stood apart. This was the dead-lock. Nothing could come of this contest of honour against honour, of one unselfish love against another. It was like striking flint upon flint, and steel upon steel. A gong sounded in the distance; it was the signal to dress for dinner. Olivia beat the floor impatiently with one foot; her lips trembled; her eyes filled with tears.
"If you cared for me," she cried passionately, "half as much as you said you did, you wouldn't be so ready to lose me now!"
"If I cared less," he answered, "I would take you at your word—God knows how you tempt me to!—and you should be my wife in spite of all. I would mind less how I dragged you down—what became of us in the end. But I love you too well to spoil your life. Don't you know that, Olivia?"
"Ah, yes! I know it! I know—I know——"
He took her in his arms at last. He was shaking all over. Her head lay back upon his shoulder. He smoothed the hair from the high, white forehead; he looked tenderly and long into the wild wet eyes. His arm tightened about her; he could not help it.
"Sweetheart," he faltered, "you must help me to be strong. It is hard enough as it is. Only help me, or it will be far harder. Help me now—at dinner. I am going to take the head of the table for the last time. Help me by being bright! We can talk afterwards. There is time enough. Only help me now!"