"Helena, for heaven's sake, don't speak so. I knew it wouldn't be easy
to do what I intended to do, and it isn't easy. But don't make it
harder for me than it is, I beg, I pray."
She tried to speak again, but he would not listen.
"When you sent the message into Cairo which doomed Ishmael to death you
thought he had killed your father. If he had really done so he would
have deserved all you did to him. But he hadn't, whereas I had. Do you
think I can let an innocent man die for my crime?"
"But, Gordon--" she began, and again he stopped her.
"Don't speak about it, Helena. For heaven's sake, don't! I've fought
this battle with myself before, and I can't fight it over again--with
your eyes upon me too, your voice in my ears, and your presence by my
side."
He was trying to move away, and she was still clinging to his arm.
"Don't speak about our love, either. All that is over now. You must
know it is. There is a barrier between us that can never----"
His voice was breaking and he was struggling to tear himself away from
her, but she leapt to her feet and cried--
"Gordon, you _shall_ hear me--you _must_!" and then he stopped short and
looked at her.
"You think you were the cause of my father's death, but you were not,"
she said.
His mouth opened, his lips trembled, he grew deadly pale.
"You think, too, that there is a barrier of blood between us, but there
is no such thing."
"Take care of what you are saying, Helena."
"What I am saying is the truth, Gordon--it is God's truth."
He looked blankly at her for a moment in silence, then laid hold of her
violently by both arms, gazed closely into her face, and said in a low,
trembling voice--
"Helena, if you knew what it is to live for months under the shadow of a
sin--an awful sin--an unpardonable sin--surely you wouldn't ... But why
don't you speak? Speak, girl, speak!"