Do you remember
    Our great love’s pure unfolding,
  The troth you gave,
    And prayed, for God’s upholding,
      Long and long ago?

  Out of the past
    A dream—­and then the waking—­
  Comes back to me
    Of love, and love’s forsaking,
      Ere the summer waned.

  Ah!  Let me dream
    That still a little kindness
  Dwelt in the smile
    That chid my foolish blindness,
      When you said good-bye.

  Let me remember
    When I am very lonely,
  How once your love
    But crowned and blessed me only,
      Long and long ago.

There was no faltering now.  The beautiful voice had never been more touching in its exquisite appeal.  All the unutterable sweetness and humility and faith, the wistful memories, the passion and surrender that love holds, dwelt in the throbbing notes.

To Max, standing a little apart, the width of the room betwixt him and the woman singing, it seemed as though she were entreating him . . . calling to him. . . .

The sad, tender words, poignant with regret and infinite beseeching, clamoured against his heart, and as the last note trembled into silence, he turned and made his way blindly out of the room.

CHAPTER XXIX

SACRIFICE

“Did you mean it?”

Errington’s voice broke harshly through the silence of the little anteroom where Diana waited alone.  It had a curious, cracked sound, and his breath laboured like that of a man who has run himself out.

For a moment she kept her face hidden, trying to steady herself, but at last she turned towards him, and in her eyes was a soft shining—­a strange, sweet fire.

“Max!” The whispered name was hardly audible; tremulous and wistful it seemed to creep across the room.

But he heard it.  In a moment his arms were round her, and he had gathered her close against his heart.  And so they remained for a space, neither speaking.

Presently Diana lifted her head.

“Max, it was because I loved you so that I was so hard and bitter—­only because I loved you so.”

“I know,” was all he said.  And he kissed her hair.

“Do you?”—­wistfully.  “I wonder if—­if a man can understand how a woman can be so cruel to what she loves?”

And as he had no answer to this (since, after all, a man cannot be expected to understand all—­or even very much—­that a woman does), he kissed her lips.

She crept a little nearer to him.

“Max!  Do you still care for me—­like that?” There was wonder and thanksgiving in her voice.  “Oh, my dear, I’m down in the dust at your feet—­I’ve failed you utterly, wronged you every way.  Even if you forgive me, I shall never forgive myself.  But I’m—­all yours, Max.”

With a sudden jealous movement he folded her more closely in his arms.