I. A. R. Wylie

“ Over his bowed head she met the somber question in Otway's eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I have misled you because I misled myself. I tempted you—to commit a crime. It was a crime. However wronged you were, you had no right to accept the atonement of Peter's life. It happens to be of value, after all, to me. It is worth more to me than your discovery—yes, and the cause you serve. It is mine, and I cannot give it up for the whole world. Peter, if you can forgive me, take me home.”
Otway held open the door. The evil had gone out of his face, leaving it haggard, but curiously at peace. ”

“ Out of weakness there had come forth strength, and out of insignificance a simple, unshaken heroism.
“I don't want to be held for your murder,” said Otway from between white lips.
“That is easily avoided. You will give me the serum, with instructions how to use it. When I am taken ill, I shall send for you as for an ordinary doctor. You will attend me and draw your conclusions as to the worth of your discovery. No one will blame you if I succumb to—diphtheria.”
Again silence. Otway had turned his back to his visitor, and Enid saw his face distorted with the violence of his temptation. ”

“ Enid pushed aside the curtains. Before either of the two men could move or speak, she had crossed the room and wrenched the phial from Peter's hands. The next instant it lay in the fender, shattered into a hundred fragments.
“I am glad you love your wife, Peter,” she said brokenly, “because it seems, after all, that she loves you.” Then suddenly she laid her hands on his shoulders, half laughing, half crying. “Peter, I'm a runaway. I ran away from you because I didn't understand you or myself. I do now. Will you take me back?” ”