He would not give her up; he could not.  Why should he?  She would be happier with him, even though wrongfully his, than with a drunken father in the forests of North Carolina.  They would go to Paris together.  It would be years before he would care to marry.  But at the thought Katrine’s eyes came back to him. Francis the King! It was so she spoke of him, and it was this complete trust that appealed to all the best within him, as a tenderness born of her sweetness, her complete loyalty, raised him beyond his own selfishness, and he resolved to save her, save her even from himself.

With this fixed thought he rose early and, breakfastless, went out into the dawn.  He would go away and leave her.  He would see her once more and tell her the truth about himself.  He would make it clear to her, “damnably clear,” he said to himself, with a set chin.  She would be left with no illusions concerning him.  It would help her to forget to know him as he really was.  He felt it part of his expiation to tell her the truth.

As he rode up the pathway to the lodge he was white to the lips.  His eyes were sunken.  All the passion of which he was capable longed for this woman whom he was about to surrender, perhaps to some other.  He winced at the thought of it.

She was sitting in the old arbor and turned suddenly at the sound of his steps, an unopened book dropping from her hands at sight of him.

“What is the matter?” she asked, anxiously, at sight of his white face.  “Are you ill?”

“Katrine!” he cried, “it is shame—­shame at what I have been doing; shame at the way I have been treating you!”

She grew suddenly pale, and her lips parted as she stood with eyes fastened upon him, waiting for him to go on.

“I wanted you to love me,” he went on.  “I wanted it from the first.  As time passed I learned to care so much that I thought of nothing else, wanted nothing else, but to be near you.  But never, never for one instant, and, Katrine, it is of this you must think always, never for one instant did I intend to marry you!”

She placed one hand against the bench for support, her face exquisitely pale, her eyes darkened, her mouth drawn; but she regarded him steadily and bravely as he continued.

“I might make excuses for my conduct; might even lie about there being some obstacles, my mother’s objections, the rest of the family, but I don’t want to do that.  I want you to know the truth just as it stands, to know me exactly as I am.  My mother would object to my marrying you, but if I did it she would in time become reconciled.  I have my way with her.  The only thing that stands between us is my pride, family pride.  It is sending me away from you.  I am going to-day, going to-day, because I do not dare to stay.”

Still she spoke no word, but sat looking away from him into the ocean of roses.

“For God’s sake, say something to me, Katrine!” he cried, at length.  “Tell me even that I am the contemptible cad you think me to be; only say something.  I cannot endure this.  With every fibre of me I am longing to take you in my arms, to kiss your eyes that have the ache in them.  God knows how I want you and how I am suffering!”