He walked in briskly and with a business-like, forward alertness. She looked up, paled, then flushed.
“Oh, I was hoping so you had forgotten,” she said tremblingly.
He smiled kindly: “I never forget.”
She put up one hand to her cheek and rested her head on it a moment in thought.
He came up and stood deferentially by her side, looking down on her, on her beautiful head. She half crouched, expecting to hear something banteringly complimentary; bold, commonplace—to feel even the touch of his sensual hand on her hair, on her cheek and My Queen—my Queen!
After a while she looked up, surprised. The excitement in her eyes—the half-doubting—half-yielding fight there, of ambition, and doubt, and the stubborn wrong of it all, of her hard lot and bitter life, of the hidden splendor that might lie beyond, and yet the terrible doubt, the fear that it might end in a living death—these, fighting there, lit up her eyes as candles at an altar of love. Then the very difference of his attitude, as he stood there, struck her,—the beautiful dignity of his face, his smile. She saw in an instant that sensualism had vanished—there was something spiritual which she had never seen before. A wave of trust, in her utter helplessness, a feeling of respect, of admiration, swept over her. She arose quickly, wondering at her own decision.
He bowed low, and there was a ringing sweetness in his voice as he said: “I have come for you, Helen—if you wish to go.”
“I will go, Richard Travis, for I know now you will do me no harm.”
“Do you think you could learn to love me?”
She met his eyes steadily, bravely: “That was never in the bargain. That is another thing. This is barter and trade—the last ditch rather than starvation, death. This is the surrender of the earthen fort, the other the glory of the ladder leading to the skies. Understand me, you have not asked for that—it is with me and God, who made me and gave it. Let it stay there and go back to him. You offer me bread”—