He heard the note of tragedy in the words, and he braced himself to meet her most desperate resistance. "Before I go further," he said, "let me tell you this! Slight though you may consider our acquaintance to be, I have always felt--I have always known--that you are a good woman." She made a quick gesture of protest. "Would a good woman have left the man who saved her life lying ill in a strange land while she escaped with her miserable freedom?" He answered her without hesitation, as he had long ago answered himself. "No doubt the need was great." She turned away from him and sat down, bowing her head upon her hand. "It was," she said, her voice very low. "I was nearly mad with trouble. You had pity then--without knowing. Have you--no pity--now?" The appeal went out into silence. Carey neither spoke nor moved. His face was like a stone mask--the face of a strong man in torture. After a pause of seconds she spoke again, her face hidden from him. "The first Mrs. Coningsby is dead," she said. "Let it be so! Nothing will ever bring her back. Geoffrey Coningsby is free to marry--whom he will." The words were scarcely more than a whisper, but they reached and pierced him to the heart. He drew a step nearer to her, and spoke with sudden vehemence. "I would help you, Heaven knows, if I could! But you will see--you must see presently--that I have no choice. There is only one thing to be done, and it has fallen to me to see it through, though it would be easier for me to die!" He broke off. There was strangled passion in his voice. Abruptly he turned his back upon her, and began to pace up and down. Again there fell a long pause. The music and the tramp of dancing feet below rose up in his ears like a shout of mockery. He was fighting the hardest battle of his life, fighting single-handed and grievously wounded for a victory that would cripple him for the rest of his days. Suddenly he stood still and looked at her, though she had not moved, unless her head with its silvery hair were bowed a little lower than before. For a single instant he hesitated, then strode impulsively to her, and knelt down by her side. "God help us both!" he said hoarsely. His hands were on her shoulders. He drew her to him, taking the bowed head upon his breast. And so, silently, he held her. When she looked up at last, he knew that the bitter triumph was his. Her face was deathly, but her eyes were steadfast. She drew herself very gently out of his hold. "I do not think," she said, "that there is anyone else in the world who could have done for me what you have done tonight." She paused a moment looking straight into his eyes, then laid her hands in his without a quiver. "Years ago," she said, "you saved my life. Tonight--you have saved something infinitely more precious than that. And I--I am grateful to you. I will do--whatever you think right."