'I have said that we can't be strangers,' Sidwell murmured brokenly. 'Wherever you go, I must hear of you.'
'Everyone about you will detest my name. You will soon wish to forget my existence.'
'If I know myself, never!—Oh, try to find your true work! You have such abilities, powers so much greater than those of ordinary men. You will always be the same to me, and if ever circumstances'——
'You would have to give up so much, Sidwell. And there is little chance of my ever being well-to-do; poverty will always stand between us, if nothing else.'
'It must be so long before we can think of that.'
'But can I ever see you?—No, I won't ask that. Who knows? I may have to go too far away. But I may write to you—after a time?'
'I shall live in the hope of good news from you,' she replied, trying to smile and to speak cheerfully. 'This will always be my home. Nothing will be changed.'
'Then you don't think of me as irredeemably base?'
'If I thought you base,' Sidwell answered, in a low voice, 'I should not now be speaking with you. It is because I feel and know that you have erred only—that is what makes it impossible for me to think of your fault as outweighing the good in your nature.'
'The good? I wonder how you understand that. What is there good in me? You don't mean mere intellect?'