For a moment Sara hid her face in her hands. When she uncovered it again there was something almost akin to awe in her eyes.
“Will you ever forgive me, Garth, for doubting you?” she whispered.
“Forgive you?” He smiled. “What else could you have done, sweetheart? I don't know, even now, why you believe in me,” he added wonderingly.
“Just because—” she began, and fell silent, realizing that her belief had no reason, but was founded on the intuitive knowledge of a love that has suffered and won out on the other side.
When next she spoke it was with the simple, frank directness characteristic of her.
“Thank God that I can prove that I do trust you—absolutely. When will you marry me, Garth?”
“When will I marry you?” He repeated the words slowly, as though they conveyed no meaning to him.
“Yes. I want every one to know, to see that I believe in you. I want to stand at your side—go shares. Do you remember, once, how we settled that married life meant going shares in everything—good and bad?” She smiled a little at the remembrance drawn from the small store of memories that was all her few days of unclouded love had given her. “I want—my share, Garth.”
For a moment he was silent. Then he spoke, and the quiet finality of his tones struck her like a blow.
“We can never marry, Sara.”