Rex’s efforts ceased almost immediately. Between his anger at having been forced to relinquish his intention and his profound horror at seeing Hilda at his side almost at the moment when he had said that he loved her, Rex had no strength left. Only a supreme struggle, at once moral and physical, could have forced from his lips the words he had spoken. For a few seconds only his presence of mind failed him. Then the superiority of his nature over ordinary mankind asserted itself. He gently pushed Greif’s hands away, and drew back a step in the direction of the door.
‘You know my secret now,’ he said, with a quiet dignity that was almost beautiful to see. ‘I ask but the favour of being left alone.’
‘I will not leave you for an instant—’ Greif began, but Hilda interrupted him and passed him quickly.
She came to Rex and laid one hand upon his shoulder, and looked into his eyes.
‘Do you love me? Is it true?’ she asked earnestly, while Greif looked on amazed.
‘But for your hand, I should have died with the confession on my lips,’ Rex answered. ‘I love you, yes.’
‘Then live, for my sake!’ said Hilda, holding out the hand that had saved him.
‘For your sake?’ Rex repeated the words as though scarcely understanding them.
‘For my sake and for his,’ Hilda answered, pointing to Greif.
‘With that sin against him in my heart? No. I will not. It would be but a traitor’s life, a dog’s life. I will not.’