Before she had preferred an ideal to the desire of her heart; now it lay about her; her strenuous heart had pulled it down to foolish ruin, and how should she lie abased with it and see him still erect and full of the deed they had to do?
"Come," he said, "let me take you home, dear," and at that and some accent in it that struck again at hope, she sank at his feet in a torrent of weeping, clasping them and entreating him, "Oh send her away! Send her away!" He lifted her, and was obliged literally to support her.

Her hat had fallen off; he stroked her hair and murmured such comfort to her as we have for children in their extremity, of which the burden is chiefly love and "Don't cry." She grew gradually quieter, drawing one knows not what restitution from the intrinsic in him; but there was no pride in her, and when she said "Let me go home now," it was the broken word of hapless defeat.

They struggled together out into the boisterous street, and once or twice she failed and had to stop and turn.

Then she would cling to a wall or a tree, putting his help aside with a gesture in which there was again some pitiful trace of renunciation.

They went almost without a word, each treading upon the heart of the other toward the gulf that was to come.