"Then, my lady, I will say I saw you not."
Now at this she came near, so near that he was conscious of all her warm and fragrant loveliness and thrilled to the contact of her hand upon the sleeve of the war-worn Ramillie coat.
"And—wilt believe, John?" she questioned softly. The Major stood silent and with head averted. "This dear old coat!" she murmured. "Dost remember how I sewed these buttons on?"
"Aye, I remember!" he groaned.
"And—wilt believe, my John?" she questioned, and drew nearer yet, until despite her soft and even tone, he could feel against him the swell and tumult of her bosom; yet he stood with head still averted and arms, that yearned to clasp her, rigid at his sides. "Wilt believe, John?"
"Betty," he answered, "ask me to believe the sun will rise no more and I'll believe, but not—not this!"
"Yet, dost love me—still?" she whispered.
"Aye, my lady—through life to death and beyond. The love I bear you is a love stronger than death and the agony of heartbreak and dead hopes. Though you take my heart and trample it in the dust that heart shall love thee still—though you profane the worship that I bear you still shall that worship endure—though you strip me of fame and honour and rob me of my dearest ideals still, ah still shall I love you until—until——" His voice broke and he bowed his head. "O Betty!" he cried. "In God's name show me—a little mercy—let me go!"
And turning he limped away and left her standing alone.