She did not answer and, after a little, with a slight regaining of his self-command, he went on again:
“Glory! What a name and what a fulfillment! You have always been Glory to me.”
Out of his eyes slowly went the apathy of despair and another look of even stronger feeling preëmpted its place: a look of worship and adoration.
“I didn’t know,” admitted Glory softly, “that I was to meet you here. I didn’t know that the fight was to be between us.”
“You have ruined me,” he answered. “I’m a sinking ship now, and those rats out there will leave me—but it’s worth ruin to see you again. I want you to take this message with you and remember it. All my life I’ve gambled hard and fought hard. Now I fail hard. I lost you and deserved to lose you, but I’ve always loved you and always shall.”
Her eyes grew stern, repressing the tenderness and pity that sought to hold them soft.
“You abandoned me,” she said. “You sought to plunder my people. I took up their fight, and I shall win it.”
Spurrier came a step toward her and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender, but he had recovered from the shock that had so unnerved him a few minutes ago and there was now a certain dignity in his acceptance of defeat.
“I break my sword across my knee,” he declared, “and since I must do it, I’m glad you are the victor. I won’t ask for mercy even from you—but when you say I abandoned you, you are grievously wrong.