It was Joan now who was speaking:
"I think that in me as well as in you there is something that neither of us knew. I cannot explain it—but it was something that we should have known before——"
"Before what?" Raymond asked.
"Before I—anyway—was left to go free! It is the knowing that makes it safe, safe for such as you and me! I do not believe you ever knew what you could be—and neither did I."
Raymond gripped his hands together and his face was ghastly.
"My God!" he breathed, and sank on the couch covering his eyes from Joan's pitiful look. He was coming to himself, trying to realize what had occurred as one does who becomes conscious of having spoken in delirium.
Outside, the storm was dying down—it sounded tired and defeated.
Joan looked at the bent form near her and then went to a chair and leaned her head back. She knew the feeling of desperate exhaustion. She had never fainted, was not going to faint now, but she had come to the end of a dangerous stretch of road and there was no strength left in her. Surprise, shock, the storm—all had combined to bring her to where she was now. The tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks; all her hope and faith were gone—she had left them in the struggle and could not even estimate her loss.
The clock ticked away the minutes—who was there to notice or care? Joan was thankful to have nothing happen! She closed her eyes and waited.
Presently Raymond spoke. His hands dropped from his haggard face and his eyes were filled with shame and remorse.