His voice was not very steady, and he paused but he did not look at her or seem to expect any reply.

Daisy gave a great shiver.  She felt cold from head to foot.  But she was not afraid of Nick.  If she yielded, it would not be through fear.

A full minute crawled away before he spoke again.  “And this fellow Grange,” he said then.  “He is a man who values his honour.  He has lived a clean life.  He holds an unblemished record.  He is in your hands.  You can do what you like with him—­whatever your love inspires you to do.  You can pull him back into a straight course, or you can wreck him for good and all.  Which is it going to be, I wonder?  It’s a sacrifice either way,—­a sacrifice to Love or a sacrifice to devils.  You can make it which you will.  But if it is to be the last, never talk of Love again.  For Love—­real Love—­is the safeguard from all evil.  And if you can do this thing, it has never been above your horizon, and never will be.”

Again he stopped, and again there was silence while Daisy sat white-faced and slightly bowed, wondering when it would be over, wondering how much longer she could possibly endure.

And then suddenly he bent down over her.  His hand was on her shoulder.  “Daisy,” he said, and voice and touch alike implored her, “give him up, dear!  Give him up!  You can do it if you will, if your love is great enough.  I know how infernally hard it is to do.  I’ve done it myself.  It means tearing your very heart out.  But it will be worth it—­it must be worth it—­afterwards.  You are bound—­some time—­to reap what you have sown.”

She lifted a haggard face.  There was something in the utterance that compelled her.  And so looking, she saw that which none other of this man’s friend’s had ever seen.  She saw his naked soul, stripped bare of all deception, of all reserve,—­a vital, burning flame shining in the desert.  The sight moved her as had nought else.

“Oh, Nick,” she cried out desperately, “I can’t—­I can’t!”

He bent lower over her.  He was looking straight down into her eyes.  “Daisy,” he said very urgently, “Daisy, for God’s sake—­try!”

Her white lips quivered, striving again to refuse.  But the words would not come.  Her powers of resistance had begun to totter.

“You can do it,” he declared, his voice quick and passionate as though he pleaded with her for life itself.  “You can do it—­if you will.  I will help you.  You shan’t stand alone.  Don’t stop to think.  Just come with me now—­at once—­and put an end to it before you sleep.  For you can’t do this thing, Daisy.  It isn’t in you.  It is all a monstrous mistake, and you can’t go on with it.  I know you better than you know yourself.  We haven’t been pals all these years for nothing.  And there is that in your heart that won’t let you go on.  I thought it was dead a few minutes ago.  But, thank God, it isn’t.  I can see it in your eyes.”

She uttered an inarticulate sound that was more bitter than any weeping, and covered her face.