Feverishly she broke in upon his astonishment.  “Oh, don’t be shocked!  It is absolutely the only way.  I cannot stay here without you.  Trevor will keep us apart.  He will not let me even write to you.  He says that our friendship must cease.  And it cannot—­it cannot!  Bertie, don’t you see?  Don’t you understand?  Don’t you—­want me?”

A note of despair rang in her voice.  Her hands suddenly gripped each other in agonized misgiving.  But on the instant his gripped closer, holding them crushed against his breast in fierce reassurance.  His eyes shone full into hers, and for one moment of fiery rapture which both were to remember all their lives their souls mingled, became fused in one, forgetful of all beside.

Out of the silence the man’s voice came, low and passionate. “Le bon Dieu knows how I want you, my bird of Paradise!  But yet—­but yet—­” Something seemed to choke his utterance.  He gave a sudden gasp, and bowed his head forward upon her shoulder.

Her arms were round him in an instant.  “What is it, dearest?  You are ill!”

“No,” he said.  “No.”  But still he gasped for breath, and she fancied that he repressed a shudder.

He raised his head after a moment.  “Pardon me, cherie.  I am only—­weak.  Christine, all my life—­all my life—­I shall remember—­how you were ready—­to give up all—­all—­for me.  But, mignonne, I cannot take such a sacrifice.  I dare not.  Go back to your husband, cherie.  It is your duty.  You are his, not mine.  We will not stain our love thus.  Christine”—­his voice broke—­“ma mignonne, I love you too well—­too well—­to do this thing.  You shall not be ruined—­for my sake.”

“Oh, but, Bertie!” she pleaded.  She was clinging to him now; her eyes implored him.  “Think of me here without you!  Never to see you again—­never to have a single word from you any more!  Bertie, I can’t bear it—­I can’t bear it!  It will be no sacrifice to me to come with you.  I don’t mind hardship.  I’m used to poverty, But here—­but here—­”

Her voice broke also, she could say no more.  His arms went round her, straining her to him.  His face was close to hers.  But his eyes were the eyes of a man in torture.

“I know—­I know all,” he whispered.  “Yet—­my darling—­you must stay—­and I must go.  When Love demands a sacrifice—­”

“I will sacrifice anything—­everything—­all I have!” she cried out wildly.

“We must sacrifice each other,” he said.  “That is the test of our love, cherie.  That is the sacrifice that Love demands.”

He spoke quite quietly, with the calmness of one who knew and faced the worst.  The torture in his eyes had turned to dumb endurance.  “Only thus,” he said—­“only thus can we be true to our love.  We sacrifice the little for the much. Mignonne, believe me, it is worth it.  You are mine, and I am yours.  So be it, then.  Let us be—­faithful.”