“Listen, Honora,” he said, and tried to speak calmly, though his voice was still vibrant; “let us look the situation in the face. As I told you once, the days of useless martyrdom are past. The world is more enlightened today, and recognizes an individual right to happiness.”
“To happiness,” she repeated after him, like a child. He forgot his words as he looked into her eyes: they were lighted as with all the candles of heaven in his honour.
“Listen,” he said hoarsely, and his fingers tightened on her arm.
The current running through her from him made her his instrument. Did he say the sky was black, she would have exclaimed at the discovery.
“Yes—I am listening.”
“Honora!”
“Hugh,” she answered, and blinded him. He was possessed by the tragic fear that she was acting a dream; presently she would awake—and shatter the universe. His dominance was too complete.
“I love you—I respect you. You are making it very hard for me. Please try to understand what I am saying,” he cried almost fiercely. “This thing, this miracle, has happened in spite of us. Henceforth you belong to me—do you hear?”
Once more the candles flared up.
“We cannot drift. We must decide now upon some definite action. Our lives are our own, to make as we choose. You said you were going away. And you meant—alone?”