He let her go. She sat down and put her pocket-handkerchief to her wrist. "If you tell lies, Audrey, what am I to believe? What you said then, or what you say now?" "I'm telling the truth now, because I don't want this wretched misunderstanding to go any further." "Can't you speak plainly? Do you mean this, that you don't love me?" "Yes. It's true. I don't love you; I can't--at least, not like that." "I can't believe it! It's impossible! As long as I can remember, whatever you said or did, you made me think you loved me. You said last year you'd be my wife; but that's nothing. Long before that, you let me live on the hope of it, year after year. It's inconceivable that you could have done these things if you didn't care for me. Even you couldn't be such an unfeeling little fiend." "No, no; you worked on my feelings. You wouldn't let me have any will of my own. And now you want me to marry you whether I like it or not. Whatever happens, I can't do that, Vincent." "Why not?" "Must I tell you?" "Isn't that the very least you can do?" "Well--you know, Vincent, you've been very wild; you've told me so yourself a thousand times." "Is it that? You knew that long ago." "I never realised it till now. Now I know that I can only really love some one strong and good, whose goodness would help me and make me good too." Audrey's infantile irony made Hardy laugh. That laugh frightened her. "Do you think I don't know that?" he said. "What do you suppose I went out of England for? It wasn't to shoot, or to farm either. It was to get away out of the reach of temptation, to live in a pure air, and make myself pure for your sake. Do you know, Audrey, I was out there, without a soul to speak to, a year, one horrible long year, fighting the devil, waiting till I could come back and tell you that I was fit to love you. God knows I'm not all I ought to be,--who is? At least, I'm not ashamed now to ask you to be my wife. Will you never forget the past?" She had hesitated before, but now Hardy's humility put her in the position of the superior, and his piteous confession gave her the words she wanted. "No. It's no use. Once for all, I do not love you; and if I did, I could not marry any man who had led the life you have."