"Yes, I'm doing what you wish," he said. "I can't deny you anything."
That cut me deep, so I went on to say that if I had acted otherwise I should always have had behind me the memory of the vows I had broken, the sacrament I had violated, and the faith I had abandoned.
"All the same we might have been very happy," he said, and then my throat became so thick that I could not say any more.
After a few moments he said:
"It breaks my heart to leave you. But I suppose I must, though I don't know what is going to happen."
"All that is in God's hands," I said.
"Yes," said Martin, "it's up to Him now."
It made my heart ache to look at his desolate face, so, struggling hard with my voice, I tried to tell him he must not despair.
"You are so young," I said. "Surely the future holds much happiness for you."
And then, though I knew that the bare idea of another woman taking the love I was turning away would have made the world a blank for me, I actually said something about the purest joys of love falling to his lot some day.