"No, by the Lord God," said Martin. "There'll be no other woman for me. If I'm not to have you I'll wear the willow for you the same as if you were dead."
There was a certain pain in that, but there was a thrill of secret joy in it too.
He was still holding my hand. We held each other's hands a long time. In spite of my affected resignation I could not let his hand go. I felt as if I were a drowning woman and his hand were my only safety. Nevertheless I said:
"We must say good-night and good-bye now."
"And if it is for ever?"
"Don't say that."
"But if it is?"
"Well, then . . . for ever."
"At least give me something to take away with me," he said.
"Better not," I answered, but even as I spoke I dropped the handkerchief which I had been holding in my other hand and he picked it up.