As he spoke now in his excitement, he took a step toward her, and she drew back.
“Yes!” he cried bitterly; “you are right. Shrink from me and go.”
“No,” she said, after another pause, “I will not shrink from you; I will not upbraid; I will only say to you, Tear these scales from your eyes, and see, as Armstrong Dale, my old playfellow—brother—lover—used to see. Break from the entanglement, like the man you always were, and be yourself again.”
“No!” he groaned, “I am no longer master of myself. For God’s sake, go!”
“And leave you to this—caught in these toils, to struggle wildly for a time, and for what?—a life of misery and repentance? It is not true; you are too strong for this. Armstrong, for your own sake—for all at home—one brave effort. Pluck her from your heart.”
He looked at her sadly for a few moments, and then shook his head.
“Impossible!” he groaned. “It is too late.”
“No!” she cried excitedly; “even on the very edge there is time to drag you away. Armstrong—I cannot bear it—come with me, dearest. You loved me once; you made me care for you and think of you as all the world to me. This woman—she cannot love you as I do, dear. For I do love you with all my poor heart. Don’t quite break it, dear, for I forgive you everything, only come back with me now. Do you not hear me? I forgive you everything, and you will come.”
She staggered toward him with her arms open to clasp him to her breast, but he shrank away with a groan of despair.
“No,” he said; “it is too late—too late!”