He stiffened somewhat at her touch, but he did not repulse her. "I'm afraid you won't find me in a very yielding mood," he said. She held his arm a little more tightly, albeit her hands were trembling. "Won't you listen to me?" she said, in a voice that quivered. "Is there--no possibility of--of--coming to an understanding?" He drew a slow hard breath. "We have a very long way to go first," he said. "I know," she answered, and her voice was quick with pain. "I know. But--we can't go on--like this. It--just isn't bearable. If--even if you can't understand me--Burke, won't you--won't you try at least to give me--the benefit of the doubt?" It was very winningly spoken, but as she spoke she leaned her head suddenly against the arm she held and stifled a sob. "For both our sakes!" she whispered. But Burke stood, rigid as rock, staring straight before him into the glaring sunlight. She did not know what was passing in his mind; that was the trouble of it. But she felt his grim resistance like a wall of granite, blocking her way. And the brave heart of her sank in spite of all her courage. He moved at last, but it was a movement of constraint. He laid his free hand on her shoulder. "Crying won't help," he said. "I think we had better be getting back." And then, for the sake of the old love, she made her supreme effort. She lifted her face; it was white to the lips, but it bore no sign of tears. "I can't go," she said, "till--I have seen Guy." He made a sharp gesture. "Ah!" he said. "I thought that was coming." "Yes, you knew it! You knew it!" Passionately she uttered the words. "It's the one thing that's got to be settled between us--the only thing left that counts. Yes, you mean to refuse. I know that. But--before you refuse--wait, please wait! I am asking it quite as much for your sake as for mine." "And for his," said Burke, with a twist of the lips more bitter than the words. But she caught them up unflinching. "Yes, and for his. We've set out to save him, you and I. And--we are not going to turn back. Burke, I ask you to help me--I implore you to help me--in this thing. You didn't refuse before." "I wish to Heaven I had!" he said, "I might have known how it would end!" "No--no! And you owe him your life too. Don't forget that! He saved you. Are you going to let him sink--after that?" She reached up and held him by the shoulders, imploring him with all her soul. "You can't do it! Oh, you can't do it!" she said. "It isn't--you." He looked at her with a certain doggedness. "Not your conception of me perhaps," he said, and suddenly his arms closed about her quivering form. "But--am I--the sort of man you have always taken me to be? Tell me! Am I?" She turned her face aside, hiding it against his shoulder. "I know--what you can be," she said faintly.