“Don't you see that? And you of all men who have shared with such bitterness in the sacrifice! Yes, you, my dearest, my best, my love! Your life has been sacrificed, your love, your devotion, your nobleness. For once in the world the man has paid, and not the woman. For two long years we have lived together, eating at the same table, living a common life, which, had one great fact been non-existent would have crowned our days with happiness. I am of Samaria--I don't care. I have offered to you to defy the world, to live openly together, to bear your name. You have said 'No,' for my sake sacrificing yourself. Can this life last forever? Have not the past two years been filled with longings, restraints, bitternesses, regrets, all silently working--you too loyal to utter them, I dreading lest the utterance of them on my part should render you unhappier?” “I have been happy,” said Kent. “A thousandth part of what you have given me would have made me more than happy.” “But your due is a thousand times more!” cried Clytie. “I have given you little enough, but I have drawn from you the breath by which I live, the strength, the passion, the will by which I have reached my poor success. It can't be so any longer; it would be unjust, cruel!” “Stop, my darling!” exclaimed Kent, greatly agitated. I am a man, and you are saying things a man cannot bear from the woman he loves. Let us finish this before it is too late, and I lose mastery over myself. I have thought over it all--with the fiercest hunger in my heart--even in moments of our love that have been worth a century of misery. I have thought over it all ways. What was impossible two years ago is impossible now. I will not wreck your life by condemning you to scorn and ostracism and the loss of all that the outside world can give you.” Clytie did not reply, but turned her face towards the open window, looking with knitted brow into the patch of blue heaven that was just visible over the tops of the opposite houses. A great, great longing possessed her, an infinite tenderness towards the man who could speak and act so selflessly. She longed to be able to say three little words, summing up the yearning of her heart: “For my sake.” But they seemed unutterable at that hour. Perhaps at another time, in a moment of less vehement tone, when he was unawares, the words could be whispered in his ear. She sank deep into the thought--utter woman. A long, long silence, which Kent, uncomprehensive, like a man, did not dare to break. A thought had seized him too, a troubling doubt. Would he always be as strong? At last he drew mechanically out of his pocket an evening paper that he had bought on the way home, and as mechanically opened it and began to skim the contents. Suddenly he leaped to his feet with a loud cry: “Clytie!” She sprang up, startled, and saw him standing with white cheeks and shaking hand, holding out the paper. “Read--he--he--read!”