I am giving up more than he can ever return to me with all his money. ...  Money can’t buy love.  It can’t give back to me that happiness I would have known with you, working for you, suffering with you, helping you.  It’s my chance. ...  You must see.  You must believe the truth.  I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t—­if you didn’t see that I am throwing away my happiness and giving myself—­just for the Cause.  That I am giving all of myself—­not to a quick, merciful death.  That wouldn’t be hard. ...  But to years of misery, to a lifetime of suffering.  Knowing I love you, I will have to go to him, and be his wife, and pretend—­pretend—­day after day, year after year, that I love him. ...  I’ll have to deceive him.  I’ll have to hold his love and make it stronger, and I’ll—­I’ll come to loathe him.  Does that sound easy?  Could money buy that?  Look into your heart and see. ...”

He strode to her, and his hands fell heavily on her shoulders, his black, blazing eyes burned into hers.

“You love me—­you haven’t lied to me?” he demanded, hoarsely.

“I love you.”

“Then, by God! you’re mine, and I’ll have you.  He sha’n’t buy you away if I have to kill him.  You’re mine, do you hear?—­Mine!”

“Who do you belong to?” she asked.  “If I demanded that you give up your work, abandon the Cause, would you do it for me?”

“No.”

“You belong to the Cause—­not to me. ...  I belong to the Cause, too. ...  Body and soul I belong to it.  What am I to you but a girl, an incident?  Your duty lies toward all those men.  Your work is to help them. ...  Then you should give me willingly; if I hesitate you should try to force me to do this thing-for it will help.  What other thing could do what it will do?  Think!  Think!...  Think!”

“You’re mine. ...  He has everything else.  His kind take everything else from us.  Now they want our wives.  They sha’n’t have them. ...  He sha’n’t have them. ...  He sha’n’t have you.”

“It is for me to say,” she replied, gently.  “I’m so sorry—­so sorry—­ if it hurts you.  I’m sorry any part of the suffering and sorrow must fall on you.  If I could only bear it alone!  If I can help, it’s my right to help, and to give. ...  Don’t make it harder.  Oh, don’t make it harder!”

He flung her from him roughly.  “You’re like all of them. ...  Wealth dazzles you.  You fear poverty. ...  Softness, luxuries—­you all—­you women—­are willing to sell your souls for them.”

“Did my mother sell her soul for luxuries?  If she did, where are they?  Did your mother sell her soul for them? ...  Have the wives of all the men who have worked and suffered and been trampled on for the Cause sold their souls?...  You’re bitter.  I—­I am sorry—­so sorry.  If you care for me as I do for you—­I—­I know how bitterly hard it will be—­to—­give me up-to see me his wife. ...”

“I’ll never see that.  You can throw me over, but you’ll never marry him.”