But it was naturally upon Armstrong that the burden rested most heavily. He had been given the fullest details of the conference in the garden which immediately preceded Helen’s collapse, and her replies to Cerini’s appeal showed him, better even than his last conversation with her, how seriously she had been affected. For this he alone was responsible, and he was equally responsible for the illness which came as a final result of it all. He had hoped that when Cerini awakened her to a knowledge of her own splendid development she would accept his plea that they take up their new life together, but this expectation had been in vain.
“It has come too late,” he said, bitterly, to Uncle Peabody. “We can only imagine the tortures through which the poor girl has passed by the severity of this reaction. She has been forcing herself to make this supreme sacrifice, which she believes is necessary, and has succeeded at last in destroying that love which I know she felt for me even through the worst of the crisis.”
“She loves you still, Jack,” replied Uncle Peabody, whose complete sympathy had been won by Armstrong’s attitude during the trying days they were passing through together. “It is this which has made it so hard for her.”
“It is only your ever-present optimism,” the younger man replied, sadly. “Now that I see myself as I have really been during these past weeks, I cannot share it with you, much as I wish I could. If I, having actually experienced this spell and knowing its force, find it so impossible to explain to myself this long series of inexplicable events, how can I expect anything other than this generous but unfortunate conviction that her self-sacrifice is necessary?”
His face contracted as he spoke, and the veins upon his forehead stood out boldly against the fair skin, still colorless from his prolonged illness.
“And the worst of it all is that I can make no sacrifice which can possibly accomplish anything,” he continued. “She—she must suffer on indefinitely for my selfishness, for my neglect.”
“Let me speak to her just once more,” Inez pleaded, in real pity for the man beside her. “When she is strong enough, perhaps I can make her understand.”
“No,” he replied, firmly, yet showing his appreciation of her thought for him, “she has endured enough already. The very mention of her husband can only revive unhappy memories. She shall at least be spared any further pleading on my behalf.”
At last the doctor pronounced the danger-point passed, and the relief which the announcement brought gave Armstrong the necessary strength to enable him to take upon himself the details of packing and closing up the house, and getting everything in readiness to leave for home as soon as Helen should be strong enough to travel.
“The place has been hateful to her all these weeks,” he explained, “and she must be freed from every scene which suggests what has passed.”