"To prevent himself from drinking what was in it. Can't you see? The struggle must have been frightful; yet he won. Had I but foreseen! I fancied he would be undisturbed in here—would get a bit of refreshing sleep to pull him up. But your aunt came in. She took her opportunity—convinced him that you did not love him; that your feeling was only gratitude."
Genevieve bent over, with renewed despair. "And for that he gave up the fight!"
"He fought and won when we left him, when we deserted him in his need.
It was only after your aunt had convinced him that you did not—"
"He foresaw that he would lose!" she cried. "He foresaw! But I—I could not believe it possible!"
"But you do not understand. It was not that he really lost. He did not give way because of weakness. He did it deliberately—"
"Deliberately?" she gasped. Surprise gave place to an outflashing of scorn. "Deliberately! Oh, that he could do such a thing—deliberately!"
"No, no! I must insist. To cut himself off from you, that was his purpose. He thought to save you from sacrificing yourself. However mistaken he was, you must see how high a motive—how magnanimous was his intention."
But the girl was on the verge of hysteria, and quite beyond reason.
"You may believe it—I don't! I can't! He's weak—utterly weak!"
"Genevieve, no! There's still time to save him. A word from you, if you love him."
"Love him!" she cried, almost beside herself. "How can I love him? He did it deliberately! I despise him!"