He drew a little nearer to her as if fascinated.
“So long you have had to wait,” she said with an adorable smile. “Now——”
“You confess that you love me,” he said quietly.
“Yes, with my whole heart and soul.”
“You made a brave fight, Stargarde.”
“Oh, I did not know what it was,” she said ardently. “I knew love was not selfish, yet I thought it would crowd my people out of my affections to love you. Then I did not want to give up my will. I thought I had chosen my life-work.”
“And what do you think now?” he asked, folding his arms and coming a little nearer to her.
“The love that I feel for you,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands over her beautiful breast, “it makes me love humanity not less but more, a thousand times more. Every man is dearer to me for your dear sake, every woman because she is part of man——”
As she spoke she lifted her face to a photograph of the gemlike Garvagh Madonna that hung on the wall above her. The large hat, slipping from her golden head, showed numberless little rings of hair curled tightly by the damp air of the evening. Her parted lips, her rapt expression, instead of drawing her lover nearer, made him suddenly retreat with a gesture of inexpressible pain.
Her features at once lost their unearthly expression. “Brian,” she said, holding out her hands to him, “Brian, my dear boy——”