“We have been mad for a little while,” she whispered. “Take me back home now, John—and—and you must never try to see me again.”
And something seemed to grow chill and cold within John Bruce's heart.
“Not that, Claire!” he cried out. “You do not mean that—that, after this, you will go on with—with tomorrow morning!”
A brave little effort at a smile quivered on her lips.
“We have had our hour, John,” she said; “yours and mine. It can never be taken from us, and I shall live in it all my life; but it is over now. Yes; I shall go through with it to-morrow morning. There is no other way. I must keep my promise.”
“No!” he cried out again. “It shall never be! Claire, you cannot mean what you are saying! A promise like that! It was forced upon you inhumanly, horribly. He would have murdered me.”
“But to-night you are alive,” she answered quietly.
“Alive! Yes!” he said fiercely. “I am alive, and——”
“It is because you are alive that I promised,” she broke in gently. “He kept his word. I cannot break mine.”
“Alive!” John Bruce laughed now in sudden, bitter agony. “Alive—yes! And do you think that I can walk about the streets, and talk, and smile, and suck the honey out of life, while you have paid for it with a tortured soul? Claire, you shall not! That man is—— No, wait! There is myself. He called me a snivelling hypocrite. You shall know the worst of me before you know the worst of him. There is not much to tell—because he has told you. I am a gambler. All my life I've gambled. As far back as I can remember I've been a rolling stone. My life has been useless, utterly worthless. But I was never ashamed of it; I never saw any reason to be ashamed until you came into my life. It hasn't been the same since then '—and it will never be the same again. You have given me something to live for now, Claire.”