The Way of an Eagle

by Ethel M. Dell

"You can do it," he declared, his voice quick and passionate as though he pleaded with her for life itself. "You can do it—if you will. I will help you. You shan't stand alone. Don't stop to think. Just come with me now—at once—and put an end to it before you sleep. For you can't do this thing, Daisy. It isn't in you. It is all a monstrous mistake, and you can't go on with it. I know you better than you know yourself. We haven't been pals all these years for nothing. And there is that in your heart that won't let you go on. I thought it was dead a few minutes ago. But, thank God, it isn't. I can see it in your eyes."

She uttered an inarticulate sound that was more bitter than any weeping, and covered her face.

Instantly Nick straightened himself and turned away. He went to the window and leaned his head against the sash. He had the spent look of a man who has fought to the end of his strength. The thunder of the waves upon the shore filled in the long, long silence.

Minutes crawled away, and still he stood there with his face to the darkness. At last a voice spoke behind him, and he turned. Daisy had risen.

She stood in the lamplight, quite calm and collected. There was even a smile upon her face, but it was a smile that was sadder than tears.

"It's been a desperate big fight, hasn't it, Nick?" she said. "But—my dear—you've won. For the sake of my little baby, and for the sake of the man I love—yes, and partly for your sake too,"—she held out her hand to him with the words—"I am going back to the prison-house. No, don't speak to me. You have said enough. And, Nick, I must go alone. So I want you, please, to go away, and not to come to me again until I send for you. I shall send sooner or later. Will you do this?"

Her voice never faltered, but the misery in her eyes cut him to the heart. In that moment he realised how terribly near he had been to losing the hardest battle he had ever fought.

He gave her no second glance. Simply, without a word, he stooped and kissed the hand she had given him; then turned and went noiselessly away.

He had won indeed, but the only triumph he knew was the pain of a very human compassion.

Scarcely five minutes after his departure, Daisy let herself out into the night that lay like a pall above the moaning shore. She went with lagging feet that often stumbled in the darkness. It was only the memory of a baby's head against her breast that gave her strength.