Her hands had come down from her face, which was full of a great compassion. “And did you have to write all that?” she asked.
“Oh, he meant no harm. He had no thought of hurting anybody! He never dreamt that every word was burning and blistering me to the heart of hearts.”
His voice deepened, and his face grew hard and ugly. “But it was the same as if some devil out of hell had entered into the man and told him how to torture me—as if the cruellest tyrant on earth had made me take up the pen and write down my own death-warrant. I could have killed him—I could not help it—yes, I felt at that moment as if—— Oh, what am I saying?”
He stopped, sat on the end of the bed again, and held his head between his hands.
She came and sat by his side. “Philip,” she said, “I am ruining you. Yes, I am corrupting you. I who would have had you so high and pure—and you so pure-minded—I am bringing you to ruin. Having me here is destroying you, Philip. No one visits you now. You are shutting the door on everybody.... I heard you come in last night, Philip. I hear you every night. Yes, I know everything. Oh, you will end by hating me—I know you will. Why don't you send me away? It will be better to send me away in time, Philip. Besides, it will make no difference. We are in the same house, yet we never meet. Send me away now, before it is too late.”
He dropped his hand and felt for her hand; he was trying not to look into her face. “We have both suffered, Kate. We can never hate one another—we have suffered for each other's sake.”
She clung tightly to the hand he gave her, and said, “Then you will never forsake me, whatever happens?”
“Never, Kate, never,” he answered; and with a smothered cry she threw her arms about his neck.
The rain continued to pour down on the roofs and on the tombs with a monotonous plash. “But what is to be done?” she said.
“God knows,” he answered.