“Domini, do not speak like this. Our love is happy. Leave it as it is.”
“I can’t. I will not. Boris, Count Anteoni has found a home. But you are wandering. I can’t bear that, I can’t bear it. It is as if I were sitting in the house, warm, safe, and you were out in the storm. It tortures me. It almost makes me hate my own safety.”
Androvsky shivered. He took his hand forcibly from Domini’s.
“I have almost hated it, too,” he said passionately. “I have hated it. I’m a—I’m—”
His voice failed. He bent forward and took Domini’s face between his hands.
“And yet there are times when I can bless what I have hated. I do bless it now. I—I love your safety. You—at least you are safe.”
“You must share it. I will make you share it.”
“You cannot.”
“I can. I shall. I feel that we shall be together in soul, and perhaps to-night, perhaps even to-night.”
Androvsky looked profoundly agitated. His hands dropped down.