Part 13 (2/2)

”Oh, you mustn't say that to me!” said Aurora Lane. ”But you would want me to be honest, wouldn't you? You wouldn't want me to lie? Somehow, I've never learned to lie very much.”

”No,” said he simply; ”no, I reckon not. You never have.”

”No matter what----”

”No matter what.”

”Then tell me, how could I say I loved you now? For twenty years--all my life--I have put that thought away from me. I'm old and cold now. My heart's ashes, that part, can't you understand? And you're a man.”

”Yes,” he nodded, ”I'm a man. That's so, Aurora. But now you're just troubled. You've not had time to think. I've held my secret, too. I've never spoken out to you before. I tell you, you're too good a woman to be lost--that isn't right.”

”You pity me!”

”Maybe. But I want to marry you, Aurora.”

”What could I do--what could be done--where would you have any pay in that?”

”Don't trouble about the pay. How much have the past twenty years paid you?”

”Little enough,” said she bitterly, ”little enough. About all they've given me--about all I've got left--is the boy. But I want to play fair.”

”That's it,” said he. ”So do I. That's why I tell you you're too good for me, when it comes to that, after all.”

”Why, it would all have to come out--one way or the other. It all _has_ come out, as you say. We couldn't evade that now--it's too late. Here's the proof--Dieudonne--and I can't deny him.”

He nodded gravely. She went on:

”Everyone knows about the boy now--everybody knows he's--got no father.

_That's_ my boy. Too late now to explain--he's ruined all that by coming here. And yet you ask me to marry you. If I did, one of two things surely would be said, and either of them would make you wretched all your life.”

He turned to her and looked at her steadily.

”They might say I was the father?”

She nodded, flus.h.i.+ng painfully. ”They might guess. And a few might think that after all these years----”

”Maybe,” said he slowly. ”But you see, after all, it's only a theoretical hurt I'm taking if I stand between you and these d.a.m.ned harpies here. They're going to torture you, Aurora, going to flay and burn you alive. I'd like to do about anything I could for you, anything a man can in such a case as ours. As for sacrifice--why, whatever you think I think of you, I believe we can both call it sure that I want to stand between you and the world. I want to have the _right_ to take care of you. It's what I want to do--must do. I've waited too long. But it's what I always have intended. You'd never let me. I never seemed to get around to it before. But now----”

”Impossible!” she whispered, white, her great eyes somber. ”There is no way. Love of man has gone by for me. It knocked once. It has gone by.”

”Wait now, let us go on with the argument just a little further, my dear!” said he gently.

”We have argued too long already,” she said faintly. ”You must go.

Please go--please don't talk to me. You must not.”

”I wish I could agree with you,” said he, disturbed and frowning, ”because I don't want to make you any more unhappy. But listen, it just seemed to me that this was providential--I had to come to you and tell you what I have told you tonight. Why, widows remarry--time and again widows marry.”

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