"It is my appointed work. I shall work with Lord Wenderby for all I hold dear. I am going to live as Eustace Haversham died. Cannot you realise that this is required of me? I cannot choose only for myself. You must understand me, Peter. I can only endure this if you will believe that I am doing what is right." Peter was obstinate. "I do not believe it," he said. "It is a terrible mistake." "Once you believed," she reminded him. "I believed in you." She faced him, queenly now, as when Peter had worshipped her. His soul fell suddenly at her feet. "I still believe in you," he cried out. "I believe that you are too dear to be flung away." "I cannot value myself as you do." "You are giving yourself up," he said contemptuously, "so that your people for a few more years may live as we are living now." "So that we may for a few more years be allowed to work as we must," she corrected him. Peter was silent. He had seen her justification, but his passion prompted him to put it away. Lady Mary now touched him to the quick. "You begin to see that I am right," she said, searching for his acquiescence. "I see nothing," he insisted. "I only see that I am losing you." "You make this very difficult," she said, trembling before the passion of his voice. "Difficult!" He caught her by the arm. "Why should you care what I say or believe?" She looked at his fingers imprinted in her flesh. She was weary and faint. She knew that love without reserve was confessed in her eyes. "You know that I care, Peter. Please let me go." Peter leaned towards her. He wanted to see her face. She felt that in a moment she must yield the message shut under her lids. She desperately shook free of him and stood away. But Peter read the deep flush of her neck and the motion she made to suppress the labour of her breath. She superbly filled his eyes against a background that had grown dim. He caught at her. "My darling," he suddenly cried out, "I cannot let you go." She felt the blood rushing to cover her. "On your honour, Peter." For a moment he was checked. "Tell me again to leave you," he said. She faced him, and her eyes were fast held. He read the whole of her secret. In a flash his arms were about her. "You cannot tell me to go." She rested helplessly. Peter held her with a fierce pride. He would not surrender her. She closed her eyes upon a whispered entreaty as he touched her lips. He felt the stir of her heart, and the jealousy of possession utterly claimed him. Something wild and cruel lit in him. He kissed her upon the face and neck. She felt them as the kisses of mere hunger, and she suddenly rebelled. "Peter, you dishonour me." Her voice smote into him a revelation. Already the passion had gone out of him. It had died in the act of touching her. He knew what he had done; he was utterly ashamed. His arms fell away from her. He stood with bent head waiting for her decree. "I will write to you, Peter."