"The child is all right, Oscar. Aunt Margret is taking care of her. Nothing you could do for the little mite would be half as good as is being done for her already. As for the mortgage, you can bear that burden just as well in England as in Iceland! Better--far better! You'll earn more money here--ten times, a hundred times more. And then think of the difficulty of beginning over again under the old conditions. Everybody must know everything by this time. They do--I know they do!"
She rose, and standing over him she stroked his hair--the uncombed curls of his fair hair--and said, softly:
"No, no, dear! You can never go back to Iceland until you go back rich and famous. And you may! I say you may! And then I, too, perhaps----"
But he covered his ears with his hands, for what Helga was saying sounded like mockery.
"Meantime you can not think of leaving me--especially now when I want your help so badly--and when everything depends upon it--my work and my future."
She dropped to her knees by his side and put her arms around his neck.
"Say you will not leave me, dearest! Say you will not!"
She loaded him with caresses, she addressed him by every endearing name, she conquered him. He felt that the impulse to go back to Iceland--the impulse of duty--was overcome by the rapture of love, and that he must stay where Helga was, whatever happened.
"I belong to you, body and soul, Helga--do as you like with me," he said.
"And you will go to the Riviera?"