He lifted his bent head, his eyes gazing straight ahead of him, as though envisioning the lonely future and defying it.
“No,” he said resolutely. “No. God helping me, I will never marry you, Sara. I have—no right to marry. It could only bring you misery. Dear, I must shield you, even from yourself—from your own big, generous impulses which would let you join your life to mine. . . . Love is denied to us—denied through my own act of long ago. But if you'll give me friendship. . . .” She could sense the sudden passionate entreaty behind the words. “Sara! Friendship is worth while—such friendship as ours would be! Are you brave enough, strong enough, to give me that—since I may not ask for more?”
There was a long silence, while Sara lay very still against his breast, her face hidden.
In that silence, her spirit met and faced the ultimate issue—for there was that in Garth's voice which told her that his decision not to marry her was immutable. Could she—oh God!—could she give him what he asked? Give only part to the man to whom she longed to give all that a woman has to give? It would be far easier to go away—to put him out of her life for ever.
And yet—he asked this of her! He needed something that she could still give—the comradeship which was all that they two might ever know of love. . . .
When at last she raised her face to his, it was ashen, but her small chin was out-thrust, her eyes were like stars, and the grip of her slim hands on his shoulders was as iron.
“I'm strong enough to give you anything that you want,” she said quietly.
She had made the supreme sacrifice; she was ready to be his friend.
A sad and wistful gravity hung about their parting. Their lips met and clung together, but it was in a kiss of renunciation, not of passion.
He held her in his arms a moment longer.