He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t, not really,’ he insisted with a quiet firmness. ‘If I were to stay, I’d be a deserter – a man always running from the authorities. See how easy it is for the local bobby to track me down?’

‘They’ve reported you – I know it! Then they couldn’t resist coming to gloat . . .’

‘Hush, my love, hush.’ He put his arms about her once more. ‘I couldn’t run for ever. Eventually, I’d be caught and probably sent to prison—’

‘You’d be alive!’ she cried bitterly.

‘What kind of life would that be? A life of shame. You’d come to despise me . . .’

‘Never! I just want you here with me – alive. I don’t care . . .’

‘But I do, Esther,’ he said, giving her a very gentle yet nonetheless deliberate shake. ‘I’d hate myself. I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that – not even with you, my own darling.’

Hysterical now, she pulled away from him and stood up, moving backwards behind the chair, deliberately putting a barrier between them. ‘You don’t love me. Not as much as I love you – you can’t do, or – or you wouldn’t go.’

In her passion, she didn’t see the hurt in his eyes that her words inflicted. But the pain was in his tone. ‘Oh, Esther, don’t say such a thing – not to me. Not to me, my love.’

She stood before him, holding on to the back of the chair, her whole body shaking, racked by heaving sobs. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he moved closer. Tenderly he wiped away her tears. Even as he did so, more came to take their place. He could not stem the flow of her misery.

Gently he released her grip on the chair and enfolded her once more in his arms, just holding her close until she was exhausted and her sobs subsided to a forlorn, childish hiccuping. All the while, he murmured soothingly and stroked her hair.

When at last she was calmer, he said again, ‘I could not live a life of dishonour, my dear, not even for you.’ He tensed waiting for her crying to burst forth again, but she was quieter now, drained of the passion and resigned to his going.

‘Esther, you must be strong. We must get through this and then, when it’s all over, well, we’ll see how things stand.’

It was the only hope he could, or would, give her. She would perhaps never quite understand, never quite accept his reasons, but she realized that despite all her courage, her forthright, strong will, this gentle man was made of even stronger mettle than she.

Jonathan’s arms tightened about her and, against her hair, his voice was deep with poignant longing as he whispered, ‘Love me one more time, Esther, before I go.’