“Look at me,” she repeated.
But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He dared not show his swollen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped posture revealed more than his features might have shown; it betrayed the torturing shame of a man of pride and passion, a man who had been confronted in his degradation by the woman he had dared to enshrine in his heart. It betrayed his love.
“Listen, then,” went on Madeline, and her voice was unsteady. “Listen to me, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have fallen deepest into the mire, sinned most, suffered most, and then have fought their evil natures and conquered. I think you can shake off this desperate mood and be a man.”
“No!” he cried.
“Listen to me again. Somehow I know you’re worthy of Stillwell’s love. Will you come back with us—for his sake?”
“No. It’s too late, I tell you.”
“Stewart, the best thing in life is faith in human nature. I have faith in you. I believe you are worth it.”
“You’re only kind and good—saying that. You can’t mean it.”
“I mean it with all my heart,” she replied, a sudden rich warmth suffusing her body as she saw the first sign of his softening. “Will you come back—if not for your own sake or Stillwell’s—then for mine?”
“What am I to such a woman as you?”