"I can't hear you," she said. Loosening her hands from his neck, she had covered her ears.
"Dearest, I know what you are thinking of, but it must not be."
"I can't hear a word you're saying," she said, beating her hands over her ears. "I'm ready to go now, this very minute—and if you don't take me, it is because you love other things better than you love me."
"My darling, don't tempt me. If you only knew what it costs me ... but I would rather die...."
"I don't want you to die. That's just it! I want you to live, and I am willing to risk everything—everything...."
Her warm and lovely form was quivering in his arms, and his heart was labouring wildly.
"Dearest," he whispered over her head, "you are so good, so pure, so noble, that you don't know how evil tongues can wag at a woman because she is brave and true. But I must remember my mother—and if your poor father is to rest in his grave...."
His voice broke and he stopped.
"See how much I love you," he whispered again, "when I would rather lose you than see you lower yourself in your own esteem.... And then think of my people! my poor people who trust me and look up to me so much more than I deserve. I called them and they have come. They are here now, tens of thousands of them. And they will be here to-morrow wherever I may be. Shall I desert them in their hour of need, thinking of my own safety, my own happiness? No! You cannot wish it! You do not wish it! I know you too well!"
She lifted her head from his breast. "You are right," she said. "You must stay."