"Give you up!" she whispered hoarsely. "Give you up!"
Her companion felt extremely uncomfortable; naturally, a good-hearted man does not like to make a woman suffer, especially a woman whom he still loves. He had made up his mind, however, and he meant to carry it through. He let her lean on his bosom and sob away her grief.
"And can't I ever see you—even just a little bit?" she moaned.
"No," he said firmly. "Can you not see, Mary, that there is no place in the world where I could keep you that that woman could not track me to? She has found me out and tracked me here already and she could ruin me, Mary, drive me to kill myself."
The other shuddered. "No," she said, "you must not do that. You are right, and I must make the sacrifice. I will go—I can bear it, I guess. But oh, Jim, I never really loved any one but you, and I never shall."
"I shall never forget you," said he. "And I will give you all you need, Mary,—you won't have to worry about money." But the girl scarcely heard him; she was not thinking about money.
"And where will you go?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," said she. "I have no home. Where should I go? I suppose I'll go back where I came from—back to Albany."
Robert van Rensselaer looked at her; the name Albany brought back a sudden memory to him. "Well, I declare," he said, "you did not tell me you came from Albany." He hesitated a moment and then went on, "Perhaps, maybe, you know a girl there—But I don't know her name," he added, with a slight laugh.
"Then I'm afraid I couldn't tell you," said the other, answering his smile. "But I knew very few people there. I never knew any one at all until after my mother went away some years ago."