He must speak.  She had done her part.  His head swam with the sudden astounding revelation that she was his for the taking, if—­Ah, but the if!  He knew too well what that must mean.

“Are you tempting me, too?” he asked, with sudden fierceness.  “Do you mean—­like all the rest—­I may have you if—­I give up my purpose and stay here?”

Mutely her eyes searched his.  Dumb with the agony of it his searched hers in return.  He turned away.

“Don!” Her voice was all low music.  The words vibrated appealingly; she had seen what it meant to him.  She put out one hand as if to touch him—­and drew it back.  “Listen to me, please.  I know—­I know—­what a wonderful sacrifice you are making.  I admire and honour you for it—­I do.  But—­think once more.  This great parish—­surely there is work for you here, wonderful work.  Won’t you do it—­with me?”

He looked at her with sudden decision on his course.

“You left that photograph?” He spoke huskily.

She nodded.

“You left it there, in my poor house.  I’ve cherished it there.  It hasn’t suffered.  You wouldn’t suffer.  Will you live—­and work—­with me—­there?”

“Oh!” She drew back.  “How can you—­Do you realize what you ask?”

“I don’t ask it expecting to receive it.  I know it’s impossible—­from your viewpoint.  But—­it’s—­all I have to ask—­”

He broke off, fighting savagely with the desire to seize her in his arms that was all but overmastering him.

She moved away a step in her turn, standing, with down-bent head, the partial line of her profile, the curve of her neck and beautiful shoulder, presenting an even greater appeal to the devouring flame of his longing than her eyes had done.  It seemed to him that he would give the heart out of his body even to press his lips upon that fair flesh just below the low-drooping masses of her hair, flesh exquisite as a child’s in contrast with the dark locks above it.  All the long months of his exile pressed upon him with mighty force to urge him to assuage his loneliness with this divine balm.

Suddenly she spoke, just above a whisper.  “I wonder,” she said, “if any woman ever humiliated herself—­like this—­to be so refused.”

He answered that with swift, eager words:  “It is the most womanly, the most wonderful thing, any woman could do for a man.  I shall never forget it, or cease to honour you for it.  I love you—­love you—­for it—­ten thousand times more than I loved you before, if that can be.  I must say it.  I must put it into words that you and I can both remember, or I think my heart will burst.  But—­Helena—­I have vowed this vow to my God.  I have put my hand to this plow.  I can’t turn back—­not even for you.  No man, having done that, ‘and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.’  He isn’t fit for the kingdoms of earth, either.  He isn’t fit for—­hell!”