Then she stepped back into the shadow. She did not wish him to see the white agony that was written on her face. She would make the sacrifice bravely, not showing him all that it cost her bleeding heart.
He drew one arm around the child and held him to his breast. He kept the other free. His eyes turned wistfully to that fair, sad face, half veiled by the falling curtain.
"Laurel," he breathed.
There was a world of tenderness, passion, and entreaty in his tone. Her heart beat wildly. She turned toward him, trying to look calm and brave.
He held out his other arm to her, but she would not understand. She gazed at him in silent distress.
"Laurel," he said again, "the gift would not be complete without you. Are you not coming to me, too, dear?"
The swift color rushed into her face, her great dark eyes brimmed over with tears, but she stood quite still, she would not stir.