“No,” answered Jean, “you saved yourself. I think you were saved from the time of that dreadful night at Quentin, only you did not know it.”
The roar of an ore car rushing by drowned her voice. A moment later Stephen spoke in a hard, dry tone. “I am not sure,” he said, “that I know exactly what salvation means. If it means that I am not likely to make a beast of myself any more, or murder any more men, I am glad to believe it is so; but after all what does it matter to me? I have lost my chance, thrown it away, and life cannot hold anything particularly cheerful for me after that.”
“No, no!” Jean exclaimed with a swift inexplicable pang at her heart. “You must not say that. There are chances ahead in life for every one.”
“Yes, chances; but not the chance.”
“Am I the chance?” Jean asked, in a voice so low that it could scarcely be heard above the echoes.
Loring bowed his head, with such dejection in his bearing as struck to the heart of the girl beside him. Jean had been thinking, thinking hard. The quick throbbing in her temples attested to the intensity of her mood. She knew in that instant that she cared for the man at her side; but how much? Enough to run the risk?
“Mr. Loring,” she said at length slowly, as if weighing her words, “I know that you care for me; but, and it is hard to say”—she laid her hand on his arm and tried to meet his eyes—“but I don’t quite trust you.” She felt his arm stiffen and quiver, but she went on, although her voice broke: “I know that you are brave. I owe my life to that.” She paid no attention to the gesture with which he waved aside all obligation. “I respect you more than I can say for the fight that you have made against habit, only—”
“Only?” echoed Stephen slowly.
“Only—oh, can’t you see that if I were to marry you and all the time there were in my heart a doubt, even though the merest shadow, that neither of us could be happy?”
Loring crushed between his fingers a piece of the soft ore and let the fragments trickle to the ground before he spoke. “It is more than year now, Jean. Must the shadow last forever? Is what I have done to remain forever unpardoned?” He spoke with the slowness of an advocate who knows his case is lost, yet fights to the end.