She lowered her eyes in confusion to the floor, her bosom rising and
falling to quick breathing.
"And now you discover me hesitating, undecided," she whispered, her
lips trembling. "I know I am; there are moments when I hold myself
unworthy of love. Yet believe me, I am honest, sincere, unselfish in
all my thought regarding you. Perhaps the trouble is that I know
myself, my nature, far too well; I dare not trust it to bring you
happiness, unless I can come to you with unsullied conscience."
"Is it thought of divorce which yet remains so repugnant?"
She glanced up into his questioning face, her own cheeks flushing.
"I shrink from it in actual pain," she confessed, in instant frankness.
"My whole nature revolts. Believe me, I am not blind, not insensible;
I recognize the truth--all you would tell me--of the inalienable rights
of womanhood. Neglect, distrust, brutality, open insult have all been
my portion. The thousands all over the world accept these as worthy
reasons for breaking their marriage vows. But can I? Can I who have
ever condemned those others for doing so? Can I, who have ever held
that sacrament to be sacred and enduring? And I realize that the
temptation has not come because of the wrongs done to me. He has been
all this before, many, many times, yet I have remained true and loyal,
not questioning my duty. It is the birth of a new love--God alone
knows if I should say a guilty love--which has thus changed me, which
has brought to my mind dreams of release. I pray you, try to
understand me! How could happiness ever prove my portion, or yours
through me, while such questionings continued to haunt my soul like
ghosts?"
He released her clinging hands, turning away from her, his eyes staring
unseeing out of the window. A moment she continued looking at him, her
dry eyes anxiously pleading. Then she buried her face within her hands
and waited, her whole body trembling. Twice Winston sought to speak,
before sufficient courage came to him to allow of his turning back, and
looking down upon her bowed figure.
"Beth," he said at last, his struggle revealed in his voice, "I should
not be worthy that love you have given me so unreservedly, did I stoop
now to its abuse. I could never forgive myself were I to urge you to
do that which your conscience so clearly condemns. To me there is a
marriage far more sacred and enduring than any witnessed by man, or
solemnized by formal service--the secret union of hearts. We are one
in this, and nothing can ever come between us. Then let all else wait;
let it wait until God shall open a way along which we may walk in
honor. Mutual sacrifice can never make us any less dear to each other.
This condition may serve to separate us for a while, yet I believe the
path will open, and that you will learn to perceive your duty from a
broader view-point--one that will permit you to find happiness in true
love, unhaunted by any memory of the false."