"
So she lied, clinging to his respect as though it had been her
salvation. And he believed her. His face relaxed, and for the first
time she saw clearly what he was enduring.
"I do not despise our--friendship, even though it must end here," he
said. "What you have given me I shall always keep--always. I shall not
turn back because I must go on alone. Your image shall still guide me
in my life. It is not less pure and noble because I can not ever call
it my own." She heard his voice break, but he went on quietly and
gently: "I pray you may be happy with the man you love."
She had conquered. She had kept her place in his life at the same time
that she was thrusting him out of her own. He would continue
undeterred along the road on to which she had tempted him--perhaps to
his destruction--believing in her, trusting in her as no other being
had ever done or would do. This much she had snatched from the
wreckage.
They did not speak again until they reached her bungalow. Then he
dismounted and, quietly motioning the syce to one side, helped her to
the ground.
"It is for the last time," he said. "Good-by, Lakshmi!"
"Good-by!"
She could not lift her eyes to his face, but from the top of the steps
she was tempted to look back. He stood where she had left him, his
hand resting on her saddle, his head bent, and there was something in
his attitude which sent her hurrying into the house without a second
glance.
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