She steadied herself for the struggle she knew must come, and suddenly felt her nerves grow firm and her brain clear, as they always did when she faced great need. She was calmer than he and more mistress of herself as she said:
“I can’t say anything different to what I’ve always said, and said in that letter, that I feel to the bottom of my heart that slavery is such a wrong, such a curse, such a horrible thing that I can’t marry you because you believe in it and are a part of it.”
“‘Don’t, Jeff, please don’t!’ she pleaded.”
He gazed at her silently a moment, and the love in his face, that had but just now been more of the body than of the soul, was transfused with admiration of her spirit. “And you can still say that to me,” he marveled in hushed accents, “after your heart has ached as it must have when you wrote those lines?”
She dropped her eyes lest he see the sudden start of tears. It was a subtle undermining of her defenses, had he known it, thus to cease demanding and reveal such understanding and sympathy. Of such sort was her ideal love, and it hurt more than ever to put it from her. One hand was pressed against her heart, as if she could thus lessen the physical pain, and she said piteously, “It’s aching now, Jeff!”
He looked at her irresolutely. Her drooping figure, her averted face, her trembling voice—they were all such a plea of weakness to strength, of feminine trust to masculine power to help, that even if he had not loved her the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her would have been well-nigh overpowering. But he knew not what unexpected visage her spirit might next reveal and he had already learned that, although the primitive woman in her might call loudly one moment, in the next the civilized woman would thrust her into her cave and in dignity and strength stand guard at the door. For a moment he wavered, then with clenched hands turned on his heel and walked across the room, exclaiming:
“And you won’t let me stop it, you won’t let me comfort you!” Then he faced about and as his eyes fell again upon her, he cried, “By heaven, I will!” And he sprang toward her.
But already she had gathered up her resolution once more and it was the civilized woman, not to be won save with her own consent, who moved aside and eluded the embrace with which he would have swept her to his breast. He dropped on his knees at her feet and buried his face in her dress. A moment she stood with both hands clenched against her heart. Then she bent over him and laid them as softly upon his head as a compassionate mother might have done.
“Don’t Jeff, please don’t!” she pleaded. “It’s so hard already—don’t make it harder, for both of us. We’ll have to just recognize what is, and accept it.”