She may have known it, too. No longer able to bear the look upon his face, she drew back, an intense pity striking her.
Was she upon the verge of some great tragedy? She did not dare to frame the question.
"Mary." ... She awoke to the sound of the Sailor's voice and of her own name on his lips.... "I've made up my mind to—to go away for a bit."
In the midst of these throes, an inspiration had come to him. It was no more than a miserable subterfuge, but it was all he could do.
"I somehow feel I'm on the rocks. I think I'll go a voyage. I'm losing myself. I'll perhaps be able to..."
A stifling sense of pity kept her silent.
"... to persuade Klondyke to come along with me."
"I wish I could have helped you." The words were wrung from her.
"You can't," he said, and he spoke with a gust of passion as one half maddened. "No one can help me."
She saw his wildness, and somehow her strength went out to him.