“I told you that I trusted you,” she said distinctly. “Believe me, and go in peace.”
“I don’t know another woman in the world who would!” cried Bayard.
“Then let me be that only one,” she answered. “I am proud to be.”
He could not reply. They stood with clasped hands. Their eyes did not embrace, but comradeship entered them.
“You will let me write?” he pleaded, at last.
“Yes.”
“And see you—sometimes.”
“Yes.”
“And trust me—in spite of all?”
“I have said it.”