Celia rose; her cheeks were wet, her lips were quivering.
"What--what will you do?" she asked, fighting with a sob.
He met her eyes moodily. Celia held her breath; then, with a sudden
tightening of the lips, a flash of the eyes, he said, grimly, as if
every word cost him an effort, "I will face it."
With a gasp of relief, and yet with infinite pity and sorrow in her
eyes, she flung out both hands to him.
He took them in his, which were burning now, and gripped them tightly.
"My God! what a woman you are," he said, with a sudden uplifting of the
brows. "Someone else will find that out some day."
Celia drew her hands away and moved to the door. As he opened it for
her, his glance fell on the revolver she had laid on the table.
"You have forgotten," he said, with a mirthless smile. "Hadn't you
better take it with you?"
She looked straight into his eyes, not in doubt, but with infinite trust
and confidence.
"No," she said; and with the word, she passed out.