"I can't do much. I haven't a weapon—not so much as a rusty revolver." He smiled grimly, remembering their first day together. "I shouldn't do much damage, anyway."
"I'm glad," she answered.
Their eyes met. They dared look at each other now. In that steady, passionless encounter there was acknowledgment and confession. They saw their visions of the future as realities and knew that they had been the creations of their despair. It was all impossible. They could not have gone on. They were exhausted. They had worn themselves out in the effort to bear their burden honourably, to break the rare mysterious decree which binds one being to another in defiance of all human law and circumstance. It was over. Soon they would be able to rest.
"If only Anne were safe!" he said.
"We must try and help her——"
He felt a hand on his sleeve. He looked down and saw that his wife's eyes were open. She clung to him.
"You won't leave me, Tris?"
"No, no, I promise you."
"I'm so frightened——"
He could not answer. The vain assurance died on his lips. He could only hold her hand in his, comforting her to the last. The door opened and he turned, facing whatever was to come.