"It's no reason to anybody who knows you like what I do. Haven't you got any pity, or mercy in you, Dinah? Can you go on in cold blood ruining my life same as you are doing--for nothing at all? What does a woman want more than the faithful love and worship of a clean, honest man? Why did you stop loving me?" "I never began, John; and if you say that reason's not enough, then--then I'll give you another reason. For anything's better than going on like this. To ask me for pity and mercy! Can't you see what you're doing--you, who was so proud? D'you want a woman to give herself up to you for pity and mercy? Be you sunk to that?" "I'm sunk where it pleased you to sink me," he said; "and if you knew what love was, pity and mercy would rise to your heart to see anybody sinking that you could save." "I do know what love is," she answered. "Yes, I know it now, though I never did till now. When I begged you to let me go, I didn't know anything except what I felt for you wasn't what it ought to be; but, since then, things are different; and I do well know what love is." "That's something. If you've larned that, I'll hope yet you'll come to see what mine is." "You can't love a man because he loves you, John. You may be just as like to love a man who hates you, or love where mortal power can't love back--as in your case. Where I've got now be this: I do love a man." "You thought you loved me. Perhaps you're wrong again and was right before." "I love a man, and he loves me; and nothing on God's earth will ever keep us apart unless it's death." "So you think now. I've heard some talk about this and gave them that told it the lie. And I'm most in the mind to give you the lie. I can't forget all you've said to me. It's hard--it's horrible, to think you could ever speak such words to anybody else." She smiled. "I don't want to be cruel; I don't want to be horrible, John. But what I've ever said to you was naught--the twitter of a bird--the twaddle of a child. How could I talk love to you, not knowing love? You never heard love from me, because I didn't know the meaning of the word till long after us had parted for good and all. Find a woman that loves you--you soon might--then you'll hear yourself echoed. I never echoed you, and that you know very well, because I couldn't." "Who is he?" She expected this and was prepared. None must know that she loved Lawrence Maynard--least of all John Bamsey. He would be the first to take his news red hot to Falcon Farm and Joe Stockman. The necessity for silence was paramount; but she voiced her own desire when she answered.