Emmy passed her hands across her eyes.  She was somewhat dazed.

“You would give me your name—­and shield me—­just like that!” Her voice quavered.

“It isn’t much to give.  It’s so short,” he remarked absently.  “I’ve always thought it such a silly name.”

“You would tie yourself for life to a girl who has disgraced herself, just for the sake of shielding her?”

“Why, it’s done every day,” said Septimus.

“Is it?  Oh, God!  You poor innocent!” and she broke down again.

“There, there,” said Septimus kindly, patting her shoulder.  “It’s all settled, isn’t it?  We can get married by special license—­quite soon.  I’ve read of it in books.  Perhaps the Hall Porter can tell me where to get one.  Hall Porters know everything.  Then we can write to Zora and tell her it was a runaway match.  It’s the easiest thing in the world.  I’ll go and see after it now.”

He left her prostrate on the sofa, her heart stone cold, her body lapped in flame from feet to hair.  It was not given to him to know her agony of humiliation, her agony of temptation.  He had but followed the message which his simple faith took to be divine.  The trivial name of Dix would be the instrument wherewith the deliverance of Emmy from the House of Bondage should be effected.  He went out cheerily, stared for a moment at the Hall Porter, vaguely associating him with the matter in hand, but forgetting exactly why, and strode into the street, feeling greatly uplifted.  The broad-shouldered men who jostled him as he pursued his absent-minded and therefore devious course no longer appeared potential champions to be greatly envied.  He felt that he was one of them, and blessed them as they jostled him, taking their rough manners as a sign of kinship.  The life of Holborn swallowed him.  He felt glad who once hated the dismaying bustle.  His heart sang for joy.  Something had been given him to do for the sake of the woman he loved.  What more can a man do than lay down his life for a friend?  Perhaps he can do a little more for a loved woman:  marry somebody else.

Deep down in his heart he loved Zora.  Deep down in his heart, too, dwelt the idiot hope that the miracle of miracles might one day happen.  He loved the hope with a mother’s passionate love for a deformed and imbecile child, knowing it unfit to live among the other healthy hopes of his conceiving.  At any rate, he was free to bring her his daily tale of worship, to glean a look of kindness from her clear eyes.  This was his happiness.  For her sake he would sacrifice it.  For Zora’s sake he would marry Emmy.  The heart of Septimus was that of a Knight-Errant confident in the righteousness of his quest.  The certainty had come all at once in the flash of inspiration.  Besides, was he not carrying out Zora’s wish?  He remembered her words.  It would be the greatest pleasure he could give her—­to become her brother, her real brother.  She would approve.  And beyond all that, deep down also in his heart he knew it was the only way, the wise, simple, Heaven-directed way.