She only stared at him, fascinated. No colour had returned to her cheeks.
He began to pace the hearth again, lip caught savagely between his teeth.
"You are no more amazed than I am to learn the truth," he said. "I never supposed it was that…. And it's been that from the moment I laid eyes on you. I know it now. I'm learning, you see—learning not to lie to myself or to you…. Learning other things, too—God knows what—if this is love—this utter—suffering—"
He swung on his heel and began to pace the glimmering tiles toward her:
"Discontent, apathy, unhappiness, loneliness—the hidden ache which merely meant I missed you when you were not here—when I was not beside you—all these are now explained before your bed of justice. Your court has heard the truth to-night; and you, Valerie, are armed with justice—the high, the middle, and the low."
Pale, mute, she raised her dark eyes and met his gaze.
In the throbbing silence he heard his heart heavy in his breast; and now she heard her own, rapid, terrifying her, hurrying her she knew not whither. And again, trembling, she covered her eyes with her hands.
"Valerie," he said, in anguish, "come back to me. I will not ask you to love me if you cannot. Only come back. I—can't—endure it—without you."
There was no response.
He stepped nearer, touched her hands, drew them from her face—revealing its pallid loveliness—pressed them to his lips, to his face; drew them against his own shoulders—closer, till they fell limply around his neck.