"Of living?" whispered Piers. "But I don't want to live. I want to die."
"Don't be a fool!" said Tudor.
"I'm not a fool. I hate life!" A tremor of passion ran through the words.
Tudor laid a hand upon him. "Piers, if ever any man had anything to live for, you are that man," he said.
"What do you mean?" Piers' eyes, dark as the night through which he had come, looked up at him.
"I mean just that. If you can't live for your own sake, live for hers!
She wants you. It'll break her heart if you go out now."
"Great Scott, man! You're not in earnest!" whispered Piers.
"I am in earnest. I know exactly what I am saying. I don't talk at random. She loved you. She wants you. You've lived for yourself all your life. Now—you've got to live for her."
Tudor's voice was low and vehement. A faint sparkle came into Piers' eyes as he heard it.
"By George!" he said softly. "You're rather a brick, what? But haven't you thought—what might happen—if—if I went out after all? You used to be rather great—at getting me out of the way."