George Gibbs - The Silent Battle

“No,” he replied, more calmly. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Oh, that you would dare!”

“Don’t, Jane!” he pleaded. “Can’t you see that I’ve got to go with you whether–”

“My name is Loring,” she interrupted coldly, strongly accenting the word.

“Won’t you listen to me?”

“I’m entirely at your mercy—unfortunately. I’ve always thought that a girl was safe from intrusion here in the Park.”

“Don’t call it that. I’ll go in a moment, if you’ll only hear what I’ve got to say.”

“You’d offer an apology for—for that !” She could not find a tone that suited her scorn of him.

“No—not apology,” he said steadily. “One doesn’t apologize for the things beyond one’s power to prevent. It’s the miserere , Jane—the de profundis ——”

“It comes too late,” she said, but she stole a glance at him in spite of herself. His head bent slightly forward, he was gazing, under lowered brows directly before him into the falling dusk. She remembered that look. He had worn it when he had sat by their camp-fire the night they had heard the voices.

“Yes, I know,” he went on slowly. “Too late for you to understand—too late to help, and yet–”

“I beg that you will not go on,” she broke in quickly. “It can do no good.”

“I must go on. I’ve got so much to say and such a little time to say it in. Perhaps, I won’t see you again. At least I won’t see you unless you wish it.”

“Then you’ll not see me again.”

He turned his head and examined her soberly.

“That, of course, is your privilege. Don’t be too hard, if you can help it. Try and remember me, if you can, as I was before–”

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