"Nothing in the world is worth a moment of your pain."
Peter's sincerity redeemed from ridicule the tragic untimeliness of his dithyrambic assurance. Lady Mary was brought nearer to tears than to laughter.
"Not even my faith?" she protested.
"It would be an evil faith, or it would not make you suffer."
"Why do you put me so high?" Again there was a note of stress.
"I shall always do that."
He put his hand firmly upon hers that rested on the side of the boat. She held her breath, fighting the desperate flutter of her soul. When she dared to look at him, she still met the shining worship of a boy. His hand rested upon hers, temperate and cool. She was glad she had not trembled or drawn away. Peter felt only an exquisite sense of privilege. He sat with bright eyes, happy in her beautiful austerity. She triumphed over her thrilled senses, and in her triumph faced him carven and tense.
The light faded rapidly. Colour went out of the sky and the water. Lady Mary took a long farewell of Peter's adoration. She knew that the light in his eyes was soon to be put out.
At last, with a deep sigh, her hand still quietly held, she said:
"Now, Peter, we must go. We have no light in the boat."