“We are tried in the fire, Boris, but we are not burnt to death.”
She said it for herself, to reassure herself, to give a little comfort to her own soul.
“To-night I feel as if it were not so,” he answered. “When we came to the hotel it seemed—I thought that I could not go on.”
“And now?”
“Now I do not know anything except that this is my last night with you. And, Domini, that seems to me to be absolutely incredible although I know it. I cannot imagine any future away from you, any life in which I do not see you. I feel as if in parting from you I am parting from myself, as if the thing left would be no more a man, but only a broken husk. Can I pray without you, love God without you?”
“Best without me.”
“But can I live without you, Domini? Can I wake day after day to the sunshine, and know that I shall never see you again, and go on living? Can I do that? I don’t feel as if it could be. Perhaps, when I have done my penance, God will have mercy.”
“How, Boris?”
“Perhaps He will let me die.”
“Let us fix all the thoughts of our hearts on the life in which He may let us be together once more. Look, Boris, there are lights in the darkness, there will always be lights.”