Nacha was listening in silence. Sometimes she had dreamed of what this meeting of theirs would be like; and she had imagined that nothing at such a moment could serve their emotion but abandonment—kisses, caresses more than humanly sweet. For such, to her then, was love; but now she understood that there was a love greater than that. She was undaunted, but surprised. She did not know whether to delight in it or be saddened by it. The man she was listening to was not of her world; to her he was an enigma, something perhaps too far above her for her groping comprehension. She could not hope ever to understand him. How could she, poor fallen woman that she was, destitute of every possession, rise to the world of a being such as he? And sadness cast a beautifying shadow over her face. Monsalvat noticed the distress in her eyes and asked why she was troubled. She made a great effort not to burst into tears, using all her strength of will to master her weakness. And she won. Suddenly she perceived that she too was strong, for her will had made its decision.
"I am sad ... because ... I do not love you. And I know that I never shall!"
Monsalvat, in complete stupefaction, looked at her. He could not understand. He had always believed this woman loved him. He had felt, as one feels a human presence that can neither be heard nor seen, the presence of a great love between them. And now ... it was impossible! What was the secret of this baffling mystery? Could Nacha be once more under Arnedo's control? He tried to prove to her that it was himself she loved; and as do all lovers, he presented arguments that sober sense would have declared absurd. The whole strength of his case lay in the tone of his voice, and the sincerity of his emotion.
"No, I do not love.... It's no use. I can never love you. You have been very kind to me, very generous, and loyal. I love you as a friend ... but that is all."
Her words seemed only to show Monsalvat to what extent this passion possessed him. At times he had believed that the feeling animating him was simply a desire to regenerate this girl who was worthy of a better fate than the one he saw her struggling with, a desire to save another human being from falling to the lowest depths of evil, a desire to accomplish something for the sake of good; since, up to that time he had lived only for himself. At the same time he believed that he loved her; but this love of his seemed to mingle with all these other feelings and desires. Now, with genuine terror, he saw that all his ideals, all his desires of regeneration for her and for himself, were either disappearing, or retreating to the background of his consciousness. At that moment he was nothing but a man in love, and she the adored woman! Nacha was no longer a wanton needing to be saved. All that had not the slightest importance. It was blotted out of his mind, in fact; and there remained only the body and soul of a woman for whom he would have given his life. In his absorption in this tremendous fact he quite forgot himself; and he was shaken by a convulsion that rose from the depths of his soul.
"Yes, you love me, Nacha, and you must belong to me—for life. I promise to make you happy. Whatever tenderness, whatever good there is in me is all for you, Nacha. I'll do whatever you want, whatever you command...."
He was suddenly startled and he checked himself. How far was he going? The idea of offering himself as a husband passed through his mind. He grew red, and was deeply distressed. The idea seemed absurd. Then, as it occurred to him that this was the only means of winning Nacha, he clung to the idea desperately. She could not refuse such an offer. It would make her understand the extent of this affection. A man of his position, a man of talent, respected in the community, marrying a girl who had offended against its code! Nacha would be thankful; she would know how to value such a sacrifice.
"Nacha," he began solemnly, "I shall make you my wife. You must marry me...."
Nacha was profoundly stirred. She tried to speak and could not, so hard was she fighting for self control. She only could know what a ghastly struggle that was because she knew how she loved him. She had loved him too much before. It was worse now, after hearing his generous words. A voice whispered to her to throw herself into his arms. Something in the very centre of her being was impelling her towards him; but another voice told her she had no right, outcast as she was, to marry this man; that such an act would make her guilty forever of having destroyed him as a part of society. A sacrifice was demanded of her! She must be more generous even than he, subdue herself, suffer, submit to her fate, refrain from dragging him down with her! She did not know where the voice came from. It may have been crying out to her from that afternoon when she first listened to Monsalvat telling her to suffer in order to find redemption; but it was a voice that awed her tormented soul even while it bade her speak and leave this man. Then the strange serenity of sacrifice came to her rescue. She was pale as death, and smiled so as not to weep. She summoned all the love within her not to let her yield.
"Yes, you must marry me," Monsalvat was insisting desperately.