CHAPTER XXIX
SACRIFICE
"_Did you mean it?_"
Errington's voice broke harshly through the silence of the little
anteroom where Diana waited alone. It had a curious, cracked sound, and
his breath laboured like that of a man who has run himself out.
For a moment she kept her face hidden, trying to steady herself, but at
last she turned towards him, and in her eyes was a soft shining--a
strange, sweet fire.
"Max!" The whispered name was hardly audible; tremulous and wistful it
seemed to creep across the room.
But he heard it. In a moment his arms were round her, and he had
gathered her close against his heart. And so they remained for a space,
neither speaking.
Presently Diana lifted her head.
"Max, it was because I loved you so that I was so hard and bitter--only
because I loved you so."
"I know," was all he said. And he kissed her hair.
"Do you?"--wistfully. "I wonder if--if a man can understand how a woman
can be so cruel to what she loves?"
And as he had no answer to this (since, after all, a man cannot be
expected to understand all--or even very much--that a woman does), he
kissed her lips.
She crept a little nearer to him.
"Max! Do you still care for me--like that?" There was wonder and
thanksgiving in her voice. "Oh, my dear, I'm down in the dust at your
feet--I've failed you utterly, wronged you every way. Even if you
forgive me, I shall never forgive myself.
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