"No, Anne—it isn't. Live—give me the chance to make up to you. Dear, you can. Ask God to give you the will. We've muddled it so far, but we've seen our mistakes. We can start again. Who knows but if all this trouble and pain wasn't meant to bring us together—to give us a real love and knowledge of each other, Anne; couldn't it be——?"
He was using instinctively the language which she could understand best. Yet there was a sincerity behind the artificial sentences, a passionate eagerness which moved her. She turned her head wearily on the pillow, looking steadily into his face.
"Would you be glad—if I lived?"
"Unutterably glad."
"Perhaps we might learn to love each other—in the end——"
"I would try to earn your love."
She smiled wanly.
"I would try to—to make you love me too. I don't know. I would be glad to live—perhaps if I could only sleep a little. Is there a chance——"
"Only try."
"Will you stop by me whilst I sleep?"