"Denzil—?" her face had paled still further, and there was an anguish of pleading in it. "Oh, please, what does it all mean?" and she fell forward into his arms.
He held her breathlessly. Had she fainted? No—she still stood on her feet, but her little face there lying on his breast was as a lily in whiteness and tears escaped from her closed eyes.
"For God's sake, Denzil, have you not something to tell me? You cannot leave me so!"
He shivered with the misery of things.
"I have nothing to tell you, child." His voice was hoarse. "You are overwrought and overstrung. I have nothing to say to you but just good-bye."
She held his coat and looked up at him wildly.
"—Denzil—It was you—not—John!"
He unclasped her clinging arms:
"I must go."
"You shall not until you answer me—I have a right to know."