"I don't think that I could live without you now, Josephine," he cried in
a low voice. "And I swear to make you love me. It must come. It is
inconceivable that I cannot make you love me--loving you as I do."
She looked at him clearly now. She seemed suddenly to become tense and
vibrant with a new and wonderful strength.
"I must be fair with you," she said. "You are a man whose love most women
would be proud to possess. And yet--it is not in my power to accept that
love, or give myself to you. There is another to whom you must go."
"And that is--"
"Peter God!"
It was she who leaned forward now, her eyes burning, her bosom rising and
falling with the quickness of her breath.
"You must go to Peter God," she said. "You must take a letter to
him--from me. And it will be for him--for Peter God--to say whether I am
to be your wife. You are honorable. You will be fair with me. You will
take the letter to him. And I will be fair with you. I will be your wife,
I will try hard to care for you--if Peter God--says--"
Her voice broke. She covered her face, and for a moment, too stunned to
speak, Philip looked at her while her slender form trembled with sobs.
She had bowed her head, and for the first time he reached out and laid
his hand upon the soft glory of her hair. Its touch set aflame every
fiber in him. Hope swept through him, crushing his fears like a
juggernaut.
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