"But I release you! I set you free! Everything has altered. Oh, can't you put yourself in my place? I should deserve shooting if I married you now. I release you because I must." "And I refuse to be released." They regarded one another with hopeless faces. Their eyes were dim with love--yet here they stood apart. This was the dead-lock. Nothing could come of this contest of honour against honour, of one unselfish love against another. It was like striking flint upon flint, and steel upon steel. A gong sounded in the distance; it was the signal to dress for dinner. Olivia beat the floor impatiently with one foot; her lips trembled; her eyes filled with tears. "If you cared for me," she cried passionately, "half as much as you said you did, you wouldn't be so ready to lose me now!" "If I cared less," he answered, "I would take you at your word--God knows how you tempt me to!--and you should be my wife in spite of all. I would mind less how I dragged you down--what became of us in the end. But I love you too well to spoil your life. Don't you know that, Olivia?" "Ah, yes! I know it! I know--I know----" He took her in his arms at last. He was shaking all over. Her head lay back upon his shoulder. He smoothed the hair from the high, white forehead; he looked tenderly and long into the wild wet eyes. His arm tightened about her; he could not help it. "Sweetheart," he faltered, "you must help me to be strong. It is hard enough as it is. Only help me, or it will be far harder. Help me now--at dinner. I am going to take the head of the table for the last time. Help me by being bright! We can talk afterwards. There is time enough. Only help me now!" "I will do my best," whispered Olivia, disengaging herself from his trembling arms. "I will try to be as brave as you. Oh, there is no one in the world like you! Yes, do let us talk about it afterwards; there is so much to say and to decide. But I give you fair warning: I shall never--never--never let you go. Darling, you will need me now! And I cannot give you up--much less after this. Shall I tell you why? You have gone the wrong way to work; you have made me love you more than ever--my hero--my darling--my all!" She stood a moment at the open door, kissing her hand to him--a rosy flush upon her face--the great tears standing in her eyes. Then she was gone. He watched her down the length of the library; the stained windows dappled her, as she passed, with rubies and sapphires, huge and watery; at the farther door she turned, and kissed her hand again--and fled. CHAPTER XXI THE BAR SINISTER It was a close night; the men were smoking their cigarettes on the terrace. Cripps was one of them; he was staying the night; he wished himself a hundred miles away. But Francis Freke took him in hand; they disappeared together, and a minute later the billiard-room windows burnt out of the night.