"Why must you?"
"I cannot tell you."
She placed a steady hand upon his arm.
"Yes. You must tell me."
"Don't tempt me like that!"
He felt himself weakening. If only he might stand before her with his mask off. It meant freedom, it meant peace. That was all he asked—just the privilege of standing stark white before this one woman.
He turned away. The burden was his and he must bear it, if it crushed his very soul into the clay. Away from those eyes, he might be able to write some poor explanation. But to put it into cold words would be only to force upon her the torture of the next few hours. It was better for her to believe as she now saw him, as she might guess, than to suffer the ghastly truth and then shiver at the mud idol that was left.
He moved back a step.
"You must not look at me," he cried. "You must keep your eyes away from me and—and let me go."
But she followed, pressing him to the wall as they all had done. The color leaped to her cheeks. Her eyes grew big and tender.