Sylvia turned swiftly to her husband, and found his eyes upon her.
"With a gasping cry she caught his arm. Oh, can't you go after
him? Can't you bring him back?"
He freed the arm to put it round her, with the gesture of one who
comforts a hurt child. "My dear, it's no good," he said. "Let him
go!"
"But, Burke--" she cried. "Oh, Burke----"
"I know," he made answer, still soothing her. "But it can't be
done--anyhow at present. You'll drive him away if you attempt it.
I know. I've done it. Leave him alone till the devil has gone out
of him! He'll come back then--and be decent--for a time."
His meaning was unmistakable. The force of what he said drove in
upon her irresistibly. She burst into tears, hiding her face
against his shoulder in her distress.
"But how dreadful! Oh, how dreadful! He is killing himself. I
think--the Guy--I knew--is dead already."
"No, he isn't," Burke said, and he held her with sudden closeness
as he said it. "He isn't--and that's the hell of it. But you
can't save him. No one can."
She lifted her face sharply. There was something intolerable in
the words. With the tears upon her cheeks she challenged them.
"He can be saved! He must be saved! I'll do it somehow--somehow!"
"You may try," Burke said, as he suffered her to release herself.
"You won't succeed.
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