“Anything, except—not to love you.”
“It has nothing to do with love of me, but it has something to do with love of God.”
He knew how hard it was for her to say that. Jane did not speak easily of such things.
She went on with some hesitation. Her voice, muffled by the fog, had a muted note of music.
“Evans, you mustn’t let what I do make you or break you. Whether I love you or not, you must go on. You—you couldn’t hold me if you weren’t strong enough, even if I was your wife. And there is strength in you, if you’ll only believe it. Oh, you must believe it, Evans. And you mustn’t make me feel responsible. I can’t stand it. To feel all the time that I am hurting—you.”
She was sobbing. A little incoherent.
“And you are captain of your soul, Evans. You. Not anyone else. I can’t be. I can be a help, and oh, I will help all I can. You know that. But—I love you like a big brother—not in any other way. If anything should happen to you, it would be dreadful for me, just as it would be dreadful if anything happened to Baldy.”
“Janey, my dear, don’t,” for she was clinging to his arm, crying as if her heart would break.
“But I do care for you so much, Evans. I was frantic when your mother telephoned. I wasn’t quite dressed and I made Sophy get the lantern, and then I ran down the path, and looked for you.”
He stopped and laid his hand on her shoulder. Her weakness, her broken words had roused in him a sudden protective tenderness.