"I can't do it!"—the words broke from him with a ring of genuine consternation, echoing in the empty carriage that penned him in like a prison cell. For a space he sat, his head bowed down between his hands, blotting out the light, rosy now on a dewy land, heralding in the newborn day.
Then, slowly he looked up, a great wonder on his face.
The rays of the sun were dim beside the white truth that poured in on him.
"Jill ... little Jill..." he whispered her name, conjuring up the grey eyes under their dark curling lashes, and the frank gaze that met his own.
Jill, with her courage and endurance, clever brain and heart of a child. For a moment he held her in his arms—his to teach the meaning of love...
Then—with a sigh—he put her away. For the first time for long years he placed another's happiness before his own. Was it fair to her?
Was he fit to marry Jill? A new-born sense of unworthiness swept aside his desire.
His past life rose up, his old mistrust of himself, the mystery of his "double heart" ... his light and pleasure-loving nature.
He thought of Fantine and Cydonia, of many a pretty woman's face; of this last year in Italy with its careless sequence of adventures.
Could he be faithful to the end?