She said “Yes.”

The light went out of the man’s life.

“In that case,” said he, “there can be no question about it.  I will marry you.  But why didn’t you tell me before?”

She said she did not know.  She made the faltering excuses of the driven girl.  They walked on together and sat on the great bar of the lock gates.

“Till then,” said he, “I had never known what it was to have death in my heart.  But I swear to God, Meredyth, I played my part like a man.  I had done a dastardly thing.  There was nothing left for me but to make reparation.  In a few moments I tore my life asunder.  The girl I had wronged was to be the mother of my child.  I accepted the situation.  I was as kind to her as I could be.  She laid her head on my shoulder and cried, and I put my arm around her.  I felt my heart going out to her in remorse and pity and tenderness.  A man must be a devil who could feel otherwise. ...  Our lives were bound up together. ...  I kissed her and she clung to me.  Then we talked for a while—­ways and means. ...  It was time to go back.  We rose.  And then—­Meredyth—­this is what she said: 

“‘You swear to marry me?’

“‘I swear it,’ said I.

“‘In spite of anything?’

“I gave my promise.  She put her arms round my neck.

“’What I’ve told you is not wholly true.  But the moral disgrace is there all the time.’

“I took her wrists and disengaged myself and held her and looked at her.

“‘What do you mean—­not wholly true?’ I asked.

“My God!  I shall never forget it.”  He stuck both his elbows on the bed and clutched his hair and turned his black glasses wide of me.  “The child crumpled up.  She seemed to shrivel like a leaf in the fire.  She said: 

“’I’ve tried to lie to you, but I can’t.  I can’t.  Pity me and forgive me.’

“I started back from her in a sudden fury.  I could not forgive her.  Think of the awful revulsion of feeling.  Foolishly tricked!  I was mad with anger.  I walked away and left her.  I must have walked ten or fifteen yards.  Then I heard a splash in the water.  I turned.  She was no longer on the bank.  I ran up.  I heard a cry.  I just saw her sinking.  And I couldn’t move.  As God hears me, it is true.  I knew I must dive in and rescue her—­I had run up with every impulse to do so; but I could not move.  I stood shivering with the paralysis of fear.  Fear of the deep black water, the steep brick sides of the canal that seemed to stretch away for ever—­fear of death, I suppose that was it.  I don’t know.  Fear irresistible, unconquerable, gripped me as it had gripped me before, as it has gripped me since.  And she drowned before my eyes while I stood like a stone.”