"What is, then?"

He paused, a little askance at the question. "To do better--to do my best,"
he said, with a sudden flourish of firmness. "To take warning by this
dreadful--"

"Oh, be silent," she cried out, and hid her face. He looked at her
hopelessly.

At last he said: "I don't know what good it can do to go on talking. I have
only one more thing to say. Of course you know that you are free."

He spoke simply, with a sudden return to his old voice and accent, at which
she weakened as under a caress. She lifted her head and gazed at him. "Am
I?" she said musingly.

"Kate!" burst from him; but she raised a silencing hand.

"It seems to me," she said, "that I am imprisoned--imprisoned with you in
this dreadful thing. First I must help you to get out--then it will be time
enough to think of myself."

His face fell and he stammered: "I don't understand you."

"I can't say what I shall do--or how I shall feel--till I know what you are
going to do and feel."

"You must see how I feel--that I'm half dead with it."