“But, dearest, we cannot part. I have told you how I love you in plain words. You have told me the same, without the need of words.” She looked at him,--a deep, inscrutable gaze,--and shook her head. “I have had perfect love once,” she said, “and from you--the one man whose love could ever have any meaning for me--love that included perfect trust, perfect confidence, perfect respect. I refuse to take from you a smaller thing. It is easier to give you up than to face that thought.” “But Sonia! Darling! You have got that love! I tell you it is just the same!” She shook her head. “It cannot be,” she said. “You would feel that what had been once might be again. You could never feel secure for even one moment. I could not bear it. You must remember what I felt in that one embrace. Oh, Harold, I _want_ you to remember that! And now you must let me go.” “Go?” he said. “Where should you go, but here to me--to your right place, your home, your husband?” At this last word she gave a sharp cry. She had been standing unsupported, and now a sudden trembling seized her, and she half tottered toward a chair. In an instant he was at her side, his arms about her, fast and sure. It was too sweet, this strong and tender holding up of her weak body. She let it be, but she was motionless and wordless in his arms. “My own child,” he said, “there can be no question as to our future now. It was all a mistake--the past! If we acknowledge it--” “Oh, the past, the past!” she said. “I can never get away from it. We have lost two years. No matter if we had the whole future of time and eternity, we could never get those back--and it was I that did it! It is good of you to say that you forgive me; but I--oh, I never can forgive myself! You never can believe in me again. I dare not ask or look for it. I don’t deserve it. You would be wrong and foolish if you did.” “Then wrong and foolish I will be!” he said. “I will believe in you again and again, forever! You have forgotten something, Sonia. There is no question of judgment between you and me, because you are myself. Do you not feel that that is so?” She did not answer, and he said again, in that compelling tone she knew so well: “Do you not feel it so, my wife?” She raised to his, unswervingly, eyes that were clear as stars after their recent tears. She unveiled her soul to him as daringly as she had done yesterday, and the message that they gave him was the same--abundant, free, unstinted love, without reserve or fear. He drew her quickly closer, still holding her eyes with his. “Speak! Tell me!” he said. Then voice and look together spoke: “I love you, Harold--my husband!” He took the dear words from her lips with his. * * * * *