“Why?”
“Oh, my friend, don't ask me any more.”
“I know, I can see—you want to tell me—you need to tell.”
“But I daren't.”
“Won't you trust me?”
“I do—I do.”
“Then tell me.”
“No—no—oh no!”
The moment had come. How sad, tragic, yet glorious for him! It would be like a magic touch upon this lovely, cold, white ghost of Fay Larkin, transforming her into a living, breathing girl. He held his love as a thing aloof, and, as such, intangible because of the living death she believed she lived, it had no warmth and intimacy for them. What might it not become with a lightning flash of revelation? He dreaded, yet he was driven to speak. He waited, swallowing hard, fighting the tumultuous storm of emotion, and his eyes dimmed.
“What did I come to this country for?” he asked, suddenly, in ringing, powerful voice.