"Yes, to tell you that," she replied. "Of course, I could never have told you had things been as they were; but now—I can't help it. How can I? And I've come to save you, too!"
"To save me?"
"Yes, to save you."
"But do you know what I am accused of?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse.
"Of course I know. How can I help it? But that's nothing."
"But, Mary, you don't understand."
"I understand everything," she said. "That is, everything that matters. You and I are all the world, Paul. For days I've been fighting; perhaps I've been a little mad; I sometimes think I have. But that's all over. I have thrown fear to the wind. I don't care what the world says. I don't care though all the gossips in the world talk about me. I came to you because you needed me, and because I love you, Paul."
Her words were simple, but there was something glorious in her self-abandonment. To her the non-essentials of life did not seem to exist. She had thrown everything to the winds. The wondrousness of her womanhood had burst forth. Her heart had spoken, and she had listened to it. The ways of the world, the conventionalities of society, the gossip of tongues were no more than thistledown. The great thing in life was the love which had been born in her heart, a love which overwhelmed and submerged everything else. For that she had dared everything, and she had found her way to the cell of this man accused of murder.
"But even yet I do not think you realise," he said. "Oh, don't misunderstand me, Mary. You know how my heart rejoices in this moment—how I would gladly suffer ten times more than I have suffered for the joy of this hour. Why, the thought of your love has been life to me. It has been the inspiration of everything I've done. Ever since that day I caught the flash of your angry eyes—the day when I came out of prison, you have dominated everything. Your presence has filled everything. Even while I hated you, I loved you. Even when I steeled my heart against you, you were everything to me. I did not know you, but that did not matter. What is knowledge? Of course, I only thought that you regarded me as a thing beneath your notice, but that did not matter. You were born for me, and I swore that you should be mine, even although I went to hell to get you. And now, now that you've come to me like this, Great God, Mary, you know what it must mean to me! Words are such poor little things, aren't they? But you're here, here!"
He caught her hand as he spoke, and again looked into the depths of her eyes; while she, although she was half-afraid, stood steadily gazing at him.