Constans's voice was hard; he rose to his feet.
"I have been waiting upon this chance for years—you do not understand."
"Yes—I understand."
"All along; it was you who loved her."
"But you—whom she loved."
"No," said Constans, sullenly.
"It is—true."
"No!" again cried Constans. Then, suddenly, it seemed that a great light shone about him. But the wonder of it lay not in this new knowledge of Esmay's heart, but in the revelation of his own. He loved her, he knew it now, and not as in that brief moment of passion at Arcadia, when even honor seemed well lost. For this was the greater love that draws a man to the one woman in the world who has the power to lift him to the heights whereon she herself stands. A supreme joy, that humbled even while it exalted, swept over Constans. "I will go," he said, and took Ulick's hand in both his own.
The storm-centre of the fighting had moved away from them; above their heads the stars shone serenely. Constans could not speak, but he pointed them out to his friend.