“O Lawrence, I am so weak! You must help me to do right.”
“Help you!” he cried, piteously. “Help the angels of light! O Stella, Stella! Don’t trust in me. I have no goodness but yours, no right but you. I had rather the tide would rise over us here, than have to go away from you.”
She sobbed, then turned her head with a long, long breath, and slowly, steadily, with weak, limp fingers began to loosen his clasp and raise herself up. He let her go. The world seemed slipping from him; the shadows of night fell about him. They sat side by side and looked at each other.
“Is there no way?” he asked.
“No,—no way but one.”
She tried to stanch her tears, but they would flow.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry!” he besought. “I can’t bear that.”
“Oh, never mind,” she replied. “It’s a relief to cry; I am not altogether unhappy. It is very bitter at first, and chokes me.”
She bowed her face a moment, then lifted it and went on, with the tears in her eyes and voice: