“I don't know. I don't think so. There is a strain in me which lays me under an insensate obligation to avoid even the appearance of murder. I have never pulled a trigger or lifted my hand on a man, even in self-defence.”
The suddenly tightened grip of her hand checked him.
“They are making a move,” she murmured.
“Can they be thinking of coming here?” Heyst wondered anxiously.
“No, they aren't coming this way,” she said; and there was another pause. “They are going back to their house,” she reported finally.
After watching them a little longer, she let go Heyst's hand and moved away from the screen. He followed her into the room.
“You have seen them now,” he began. “Think what it was to me to see them land in the dusk, fantasms from the sea—apparitions, chimeras! And they persist. That's the worst of it—they persist. They have no right to be—but they are. They ought to have aroused my fury. But I have refined everything away by this time—anger, indignation, scorn itself. Nothing's left but disgust. Since you have told me of that abominable calumny, it has become immense—it extends even to myself.” He looked up at her.
“But luckily I have you. And if only Wang had not carried off that miserable revolver—yes, Lena, here we are, we two!”
She put both her hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. He returned her penetrating gaze. It baffled him. He could not pierce the grey veil of her eyes; but the sadness of her voice thrilled him profoundly.
“You are not reproaching me?” she asked slowly.