She looked up, startled, as he rose to take his leave. It was the only way, now, and she knew it. And, oh, the time had sped too fast for her, and her heart failed her for all the things that remained unsaid--all the kindness she had meant to give him, all the counsel, the courage, the deep sympathy, the deeper friendship. But her hand lay limply, coldly in his; her lips were mute, tremulously curving; her eyes asked nothing more. "Good night, Ailsa." "Good night." There was colour, still, in his marred young face, grace, still, in his body, in the slightly lowered head as he looked down at her. "I must not come again, Ailsa." Then her pulses died. "Why?" "Because--I am afraid to love you." It did not seem that she even breathed, so deathly still she stood. "Is that---your reason?" "Yes. I have no right to love you." She could scarcely speak. "Is--friendship not enough, Mr. Berkley?" "It is too late for friendship. You know it." "That cannot be." "Why, Ailsa?" "Because it is friendship--mistaken friendship that moves you now in every word you say." She raised her candid gaze. "Is there no end to your self-murder? Do you still wish to slay yourself before my very eyes?" "I tell you that there is nothing good left living in me: "And if it were true; did you never hear of a resurrection?" "I--warn you!" "I hear your warning." "You dare let me love you?" Dry-lipped, voices half stifled by their mounting emotion, they stood closely confronted, paling under the effort of self-mastery. And his was giving way, threatening hers with every breath. Suddenly in his altered face she saw what frightened her, and her hand suddenly closed in his; but he held it imprisoned. "Answer me, Ailsa!" "Please--" she said--"if you will let me go--I will answer--you----" "What?" "What you--ask." Her breath was coming faster; her face, now white as a flower, now flushed, swam before him. Through the surging passion enveloping him he heard her voice as at a distance: "If you will--let me go--I can tell you----" "Tell me now!" "Not--this way. . . . How can you care for me if---- "I warned you, Ailsa! I told you that I am unfit to love you. No woman could ever marry _me_! No woman could even love me if she knew what I am! You understood that. I told you. And now--good God!--I'm telling you I love you--I can't let you go!--your hands:--the sweetness of them--the----" "I--oh, it must not be--this way----" "It _is_ this way!" "I know--but please try to help.--I--I am not afraid to--love you------" Her slender figure trembled against him; the warmth of her set him afire. There was a scent of tears in her breath--a fragrance as her body relaxed, yielded, embraced; her hands, her lids, her: hair, her mouth, all his now, for the taking, as he took her into his arms. But he only stared down at what lay there; and, trembling, breathless, her eyes unclosed and she looked up blindly into his flushed face.