“Dear heart, do you not trust me?”
Something seemed to break within her, and she thrust up her hands to him with a cry as of one drowning.
“John, I am afraid! John, I am afraid!”
“There, my life.”
“Take my hands—hold them—keep me; I am afraid, John! Dear God, what can I say!”
Her courage and her will had gone, and a storm of trembling shook her. John Gore felt the quivering of her body coming along her arms to him. Her hands strained at his, as though he were the one sure thing left to her in the anguish of it all.
“Barbara!”
He drew her as close to him as bars and wall would suffer.
“Tell me, child, everything.”
“I can’t, John! oh, I can’t!”