"I thought we had said our last words," he began; "I thought that that, at least, was done with—and you were going away. You have no right to follow me, Kate, to overthrow me in this fashion. My strength is almost exhausted; I have tried too much—too much—and all alone——"
"I know," she said, with her fine air of decision. "That is why I have come. You mustn't be alone any more. You must come with us."
He had tossed away his hat, and thrust his hands which were shaking, into his coat-pockets. He turned with excitement upon her, but she went firmly on.
"With Alick and me. You are too good for the post you hold; with your degrees you can easily get a better one. Come to Paris. Turn your back upon all that has been depressing and worrying you; upon this melancholy room"—she gazed round upon the unlovely space—"upon this"—she waved a peremptory, small hand towards the vacant sofa.
He looked at her with his accusing eyes, with a scarcely controlled emotion; but she stopped him when he tried to speak.
"We have been good friends," she said. "If I have not helped you through these two years we have walked as comrades together, you, at least, have helped me. Helped me so much"—she paused a moment, and the level tone of her voice quavered musically—"that I cannot lose you; that I need you terribly still."
"And I!" he burst forth then. "And I! Can you ever picture to yourself the magnitude of my need of you?"
He clenched the hands in his coat-pockets, and turned his back on her, and she saw his shoulders heave.
"It is killing me," he said—"killing me—just that."
His voice, which had been raised, sank brokenly. She listened, when it was silent, to the beating of her heart.