“Julie,” he said, “you know how I love you.  You do know it.  You know I’m not begging you to marry me because I’ve got something out of you, perhaps when you were carried away, and now I feel I must make reparation.  My darling, it isn’t that.  I love you so much that I can’t live without you.  I’ll give up everything for you.  I want to start a new life with you.  I can’t go back to the old, anyhow; I don’t want to:  it’s a sham to me now, and I hate shams—­you know I do.  But you’re not a sham; our love isn’t a sham.  I’d die for you, Julie, my own Julie; I’d die for the least little bit of this hair of yours, I think!  But I want to live for you.  I want to put you right in the centre of everything, and live for you, Julie.  Say ‘Yes,’ my love, my own.  You must say ‘Yes,’ Why don’t you, Julie?”

And still she made no reply.

A kind of despair seized him.  “Oh, Julie,” he cried, “what can I say or what can I do?  You’re cruel, Julie; you’re killing me!  You must say ‘Yes’ before I go.  We’ll meet in Havre, I know; but that will be so different.  I must have my answer now.  Oh, my darling, please, please, speak!  You love me, Julie, don’t you?”

“Peter,” said Julie slowly, “I love you so much that I hardly dare speak, lest my love should carry me away.  But listen, my dear, listen.  Peter, I’ve watched you these days; I’ve watched you in France.  I’ve watched you from the moment when I called you over to me because I was interested and felt my fate, I suppose.  I’ve watched you struggling along, Peter, and I understand why you’ve struggled.  You’re built for great things, my dear—­how great I can’t see and I can’t even understand.  No, Peter, I can’t even understand—­that’s part of the tragedy of it.  Peter, I love you so that my love for you is my centre, it’s my all in all, it’s my hope of salvation, Peter.  Do you hear, my darling?—­my love, it’s my one hope!  If I can’t keep that pure and clean, Peter, I ruin both of us.  I love you so, Peter, that I won’t marry you!”

He gave a little cry, but swiftly she put a hand over his mouth.  She smiled at him as she did so, a daring little smile.  “Be quiet, you Solomon, you,” she said; “I haven’t finished.  There!  Now listen again, Peter:  you can’t help it, but you can’t love me as I love you.  I see it.  I—­I hate it, I think; but I know it, and there’s an end.  You, my dear, you would put me in the centre, but you can’t.  I can’t put you out of my centre, Peter.  You would give up God for me, Peter, but you can’t, or if you did, you’d lose us both.  But I, Peter—­oh, my darling, I have no god but you.  And that’s why I’ll worship you, Peter, and sacrifice to you, Peter, sacrifice to your only ultimate happiness, Peter, and sacrifice my all.”

He tried to speak, but he could not.  The past days lay before him in a clear light at last.  Her love shone on them, and shone too plainly for mistake.  He tried to deny, but he couldn’t; contradict, but his heart cried the truth, and his eyes could not hide it.  But he could and did vent his passion.  “Damn God!  Curse Him!” he cried.  “I hate Him!  Why should He master me?  I want you, Julie; I will have you; I will worship you, Julie!”