They were in the forest now, where the tall trees stood like the pillars of a cathedral, and the moonlight, softened by the overhanging branches, fell full upon Robert's face, white to the lips with pain.
"Old man," said Ronald, huskily, "one of us is going to get hurt."
"Yes," returned Forsyth, dully, "I suppose so—we can't both have her."
"Perhaps neither of us can, but—well, whatever happens—say, it isn't going to interfere with our friendship, is it?"
"No!" cried Forsyth; "a thousand times, no!"
Ronald wrung the other's hand in a fierce grasp and choked down a lump in his throat. "She's too good for me," he muttered; "I know that as well as anybody, but, on my soul, I can't give her up!"
"She's for the man she loves," said Forsyth, "and for no other. She wouldn't marry a king if she didn't love him."
"Well," sighed Ronald, "so be it. May the best man win!"
"For the sake of her happiness, yes. Of the three of us, only one will suffer, unless you and I share it together; but even that is better than for her to be unhappy. I haven't a chance with you—I know I haven't; but you're my friend and—I—I love her so much, that I could give her to you, if she loved you better than she loved me."