She was in an agony of grief. And then suddenly back to her came the words of Père Anselme, heavy as the stroke of doom. Yes, she had taken matters into her own hands and presumed to direct fate, and now all that she could do was to be true to herself and to her word. Michael was right; they must say good-bye. Henry must not be sacrificed.
She raised her pitiful face from his breast where it was buried, and he framed it in both his hands, and it would have been difficult to recognize his bold eyes, so filled were they with tenderness and love.
"Sabine," he commanded, fondly, "tell me that, after all, you have forgiven me for making you stay that night. You know that we were perfectly happy at the end of it, and it will be such pain for me to have to remember all the rest of my life that you hold resentment. Darling, if only you had stayed! Oh! I would have cherished you and petted you," here he smoothed her hair, and murmured love words in her ear with his wonderful charm, until Sabine felt that neither heaven nor earth nor anything else mattered but only he.
"Sweetheart," he went on, "we have got to part in a moment, but I just must know if you love me a little in spite of everything. I must know, my darling little girl."
Then he held her to him again with immense tenderness, even in this moment of agonized parting exulting in the intoxication of love he saw that he had created in her eyes. There was no wile for the enslaving of a woman's heart that he was not master of. The question as to whether he ought to have employed them on this occasion is quite another matter, and not for our consideration! He was doing what he thought was the only honorable thing possible, giving up this glorious happiness, and he was merely a strong, passionate human being after all. They were going to part for the rest of their lives; he must make her tell him that she loved him, he wanted to hear her say the words.
"Sabine—little darling—answer me," he pleaded.
She flung her arms round his neck, her whole body vibrating with emotion.
"I love you absolutely, Michael," she cried, "and I have always forgiven you—I was mad to leave you, and I have longed often to go back. Oh! I would sooner be dead than not to be your wife."
They both were white now, the misery was so great. He knew he must go at once, or he could never go at all. They were too racked with present suffering to think what the future could contain, or of the growing agony of the long weary days and how they could ever bear them.
"My God, this is past endurance!" Michael exclaimed frantically. And after a wild embrace, he almost flung her from him. Then, as she staggered to a sofa she heard the door close, and knew that chapter of her life was done.