Part 68 (2/2)

I--believed in him.”

”Ah!” said Field. ”And now?”

”Now”--her head was sunk almost to her knees--”I know him--for what--he is.” Her voice broke in bitter weeping. ”And I had given so much--so much--to save him!” she sobbed.

”I know,” Field said. ”He wasn't worth the sacrifice.” He stood for a moment or two as though in doubt; then knelt suddenly down beside her and drew her to him.

She made as if she would resist him, but finally, as he held her, impulsively she yielded. She sobbed out her agony against his breast. And he soothed her as he might have soothed a child.

But though presently he dried her tears, he did not kiss her. He spoke, but his voice was devoid of all emotion.

”You are blaming the wrong person for all this. It wasn't Wentworth's fault. He has probably been a crook all his life. It wasn't yours. You couldn't be expected to detect it. But”--he paused--”don't you realise now why I am offering you the only reparation in my power?” he said.

She was trembling, but she did not raise her head or attempt to move, though his arms were ready to release her.

”No. I don't,” she said.

Very steadily he went on: ”You have not wronged me. It was I who did the wrong. I could have made you see his guilt. It would have been infinitely easier than establis.h.i.+ng his innocence before the world. But--I have always wanted the unattainable. I knew that you were out of reach, and so I wanted you. Afterwards, very soon afterwards, I found I wanted even more than what I had bargained for. I wanted your friends.h.i.+p. That was what the sapphire stood for. You didn't understand. I had handicapped myself too heavily. So I took what I could get, and missed the rest.”

He stopped. She still lay against his breast.

”Why did you want--my friends.h.i.+p?” she whispered.

He made a curious gesture, as if he faced at last the inevitable. When he answered her his voice was very low. He seemed to speak against his will.

”I--loved you.”

”Ah!” It was scarcely more than a breath uttering the words. ”And you never told me!”

He was silent.

She raised herself at last and faced him. Her hands were on his shoulders. ”Percival,” she said, and there was a strange light s.h.i.+ning in the eyes that he had dried. ”Is your love so small, then--as to be not--worth--mentioning?”

For the first time in her memory he avoided her look. ”No,” he said.

”What then?” Her voice was suddenly very soft and infinitely appealing.

He opened his arms with a gesture of renunciation ”It is--beyond words,”

he said.

She leaned nearer. Her hands slipped upwards, clasping his neck.

”It is the greatest thing that has ever come to me,” she said, and in her voice there throbbed a new note which he had never heard in it before.

”Do you think--oh, do you think--I would cast--that--away?”

He did not speak in answer. It seemed as if he could not. That which lay between them was indeed beyond words. Only in the silence he took her again into his arms and kissed her on the lips.

<script>