"Thought of it, yes," he said at last, "but—"
"Then the danger is something considerable. I knew it. My letter's coming was untimely, thanks to the unknown person who mailed it to you. No, my dear, I will not marry you. I will not engage myself to you. I will not defeat you."
Rutledge gathered her to himself again, confident to crush her opposition by brute mastery as before. But there was no physical opposition to be mastered now.
"It is useless," she said wearily. "I love you too much to marry you now, Evans."
"Now?" repeated Rutledge. "If not now, when?"
"Or to engage myself to you."
Her impassive manner was tantalizingly irritating to him as he laid under tribute every resource of his mind and heart to overturn her decision. Her non-resisting resistance was proof against attack. It was like fighting a fog. Seemingly it offered no opposition, and yet when he had exhausted himself in attempts to brush it aside, it was there, filling all space.
"No, no!" she cried out at last, thoroughly aroused by his passionate plea for their happiness; "go! it is sinful even to dream of being happy while one's sister is so wretched—and I will not have your blood upon my hands—nor your mother's curse upon me!"
Rutledge gazed steadily at her a few moments,—and for an answer drew out his watch to see what the hour was.
"Kiss me good-bye," she said, holding her lips up. to him simply as a child.