“Stop, my darling!” exclaimed Kent, greatly agitated. I am a man, and you are saying things a man cannot bear from the woman he loves. Let us finish this before it is too late, and I lose mastery over myself. I have thought over it all—with the fiercest hunger in my heart—even in moments of our love that have been worth a century of misery. I have thought over it all ways. What was impossible two years ago is impossible now. I will not wreck your life by condemning you to scorn and ostracism and the loss of all that the outside world can give you.”
Clytie did not reply, but turned her face towards the open window, looking with knitted brow into the patch of blue heaven that was just visible over the tops of the opposite houses. A great, great longing possessed her, an infinite tenderness towards the man who could speak and act so selflessly. She longed to be able to say three little words, summing up the yearning of her heart: “For my sake.” But they seemed unutterable at that hour. Perhaps at another time, in a moment of less vehement tone, when he was unawares, the words could be whispered in his ear. She sank deep into the thought—utter woman.
A long, long silence, which Kent, uncomprehensive, like a man, did not dare to break. A thought had seized him too, a troubling doubt. Would he always be as strong?
At last he drew mechanically out of his pocket an evening paper that he had bought on the way home, and as mechanically opened it and began to skim the contents.
Suddenly he leaped to his feet with a loud cry:
“Clytie!”
She sprang up, startled, and saw him standing with white cheeks and shaking hand, holding out the paper.
“Read—he—he—read!”
Clytie took the paper from him, and her eyes instinctively fell upon the paragraph:
A telegram from Loango announces the death of Mr. Thornton Hammerdyke, the well-known explorer, in a skirmish with some Arab slave-traders. Later particulars will be given in our next edition.