"You cannot!" He stepped back sharply, and her hands fell from him. "You shall not! I am not worthy. I thought so once.... I know better now. Do not deceive yourself. Love cannot be compelled at will, and I have ceased to wish—to desire yours! All I want now is rest and silence and forgetfulness—where alone they may be found!" He drew a breath of weariness.
"If you have ceased to wish for love from me, that is my punishment," she said, very pale. "For without yours I cannot live! God hears me speak the truth!"
"Lynette!..."
He swayed like a tree cut through and falling. She caught his hands, and drew them to her heart.
"I have been blind and deaf and senseless. I am changed, I am altered—I am awake at last! I know how great and precious is the love you have given me.... Do not tell me it is mine no longer! Owen, if you do that, it is I who shall die!"
A sob tore its way through him. His great frame quivered. His mask-like immobility broke up ... was gone. Her own tears falling, she stretched her arms to him; yet while his eyes devoured her, his arms hungered for her, he delayed, knitting his brows. She caught a word or two, whispered brokenly. He asked himself: "Can this be Love?"
"It is Love! Owen, I kissed you one night when I found you sleeping! When will you kiss me back again?"
He cried out wildly upon God, and fell down upon his knees before her. He reached out groping, desperate arms, and snatched her close. His deep, shuddering breaths vibrated through her; her own knees were trembling, her bosom in storm. She swayed like a young palm. Nearer—nearer! he felt her hands about his neck, her tears upon his face....
"Dear love, dearest husband, I have a message for you! Owen, shall I tell you what it is?"
"Tell me, my heart's beloved," said Saxham in a whisper.