"The man that loves her cares. It is one of love’s attributes. It makes a woman’s sorrow and pain his, just as her joy and happiness are his. Pleasure and pain are twins, anyway, and you cannot separate them. Alice!" He looked suddenly at her. "You love me, don’t you?"
Her face crimsoned, for she realized he was bent on making her answer.
"Let us talk about something else, Robert."
"Don’t make me put it into words yet, Robert," she said at last. "You have so long known the answer--and know that I still speak as his wife. Do I love you?" She covered her face with her hands.
"Alice!" His appeal drew her eyes back to his. They looked speechless at each other. The moment was too much. Instinctively she sprang in fear to her feet, but only to find herself caught within his arm and to feel his burning lips on her lips. She fought his embrace in half-delirious reproach. Then her eyes submitted to his pleading and their lips met with her soft, plunging pulse beating swiftly upon his heart.
It was only for an instant. She pushed him away. "I have answered you. You must spare me now or I shall sink with shame."
"But you are mine," he persisted, "all mine."
She led him up the path toward the house.
"Sometimes I am afraid I shall swallow you up, as the sea swallows up the ship, in a storm of passion."
"Because I am helpless. Was there more to your story?"
"When he had finished, I told him I, too, had something to say. ’I shall deliver your message to Alice,’ I said. ’But it is only fair to say to you I mean to make her my wife if she will accept me, and her choice will lie between you and me, MacBirney.’
"You should have seen his amazement. Then he collected himself for a stab--and I tried not to let him see that it went deep. ’Whatever the outcome,’ he said, ’she will never marry you.’
"’You must recollect you have not been in her confidence for some time,’ I retorted. He seemed in no way disconcerted and ended by disconcerting me. ’Remember what I tell you, Mr. Kimberly,’ he repeated, ’you will find me a good prophet. She is a Catholic and will never marry you or any other man while I live.’
"’You may be right,’ I replied. ’But if Alice marries me she will never live to regret it for one moment on account of her religion. I have no religion myself, except her. She is my religion, she alone and her happiness. You seem to invoke her religion against me. What right have you to do this? Have you helped her in its practice? Have you kept the promises you made when you married a Catholic wife? Or have you made her life a hell on earth because she tried to practise her religion, as you promised she should be free to do? Is she a better Catholic because she believed in you, or a worse because to live in peace with you she was forced to abandon the practice of her religion? These are questions for you to think over, MacBirney. I will give her your message----’
