Then at last, through grim pale lips that did not seem to move, he
spoke again. "Madam, it lies with you whether Guy Ranger lives or
dies. You can open to him the earthly paradise or you can hurl him
back to hell. I have only Drought him a little way. I cannot keep
him. Even now, he is slipping--he is slipping from my hold. It is
you, and you alone, who can save him. How do I know this thing?
How do I know that the sun rises in the east? I--have--seen. It
is you who have taken from him the desire to live--perhaps
unintentionally; that I do not know. It is you--and you alone--who
can restore it. Need I say more than this to open your eyes?
Perhaps they are already open. Perhaps already your heart has been
in communion with his. If so, then you know that I have told you
the truth. If you really desire to save him--and I think you
do--then everything else in life must go to that end. Women were
made for sacrifice, they say." A sardonic flicker that was
scarcely a smile touched his face. "Well, that is the only way of
saving him. If you fail him, he will go under."
He got up with the words. He had evidently said his say. As his
hand left hers, Sylvia drew a deep hard breath, as of one emerging
from a suffocating atmosphere. She had never felt so oppressed, so
fettered, with evil in the whole of her life.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219