"Demelza, we cannot continue like this. If at least you could see this from my perspective !"

His words hardly expressed what he really meant. But these days it was as if, facing Demelza, his mind was numb, paralized by guilt and fear.

Guilt from what he had done, and fear that her love for him was no more.

Hadn't she said almost as much ? She'd said she had always looked up to him. Put him on a pedestal, only God knew why. And that now, he'd fallen from it. Was it not what had happened to his love for Elizabeth ? Hadn't her decision to marry George and the night they had spent together made disappear the idealized image he had of her, to the point he didn't know what his feelings for her were, now, or even if he still had some ? What if Demelza, too, had loved a man who didn't really exist, all this time ? A far more perfect version of him ?

If she couldn't understand that he was a man who could make terrible mistakes, who had made many ones already, then the man she loved was not really him.

She was still ranting about how he probably couldn't wait to go to Elizabeth. And he knew that she wouldn't believe him if he said that he wouldn't, couldn't do that.

But he was here, with her, wasn't he ? When she'd have had enough time to see he wasn't going anywhere, then maybe, she'd believe him.

He went to fetch the letter. He wasn't surprised by the bed in his study. He'd expected as much. It was nothing more than he deserved.

The letter wasn't from Elizabeth, which was a relief. He still didn't know what to do about her. He didn't want her to marry George. But he couldn't go to her.

Yet the letter was an opportunity to go away and to gather his thoughts. He came back to the kitchen.

"I may be out late tomorrow night", he said. "I'm going to Truro and I'm unsure as to when I wil be back."

"Why don't you just say it, Ross : 'I'm going to Elizabeth' ?"

When had he ever lied to Demelza ? Yet now she seemed unable to believe a word of what he could say. Not even that he'd never deliberately hurt her. He tried again to make her undertand that what had happened that fatal night had been, on his part, some kind of temporary insanity. Some kind of possession, indeed, as he couldn't recognize the man he had been.

But once again, the way she interpreted what he'd said was completely wrong :

"Of course. No fault of yours ! Just a greater power and you and her helpless to resist."

"In a way, yes." But not in the way you think it was. He hadn't been overpowered by love, but by much more obscure forces.

How to make her understand ? Demelza 's open heart had always seemed to have to ability to understand everything, even without words. And so he said :

"Perhaps I might have hoped for some inderstanding, knowing you as I do."

"Knowing me to be kind and simple and giving ? Would you like me to throw myself off Hendrawna cliffs so that you might bury me at your own convenience and wed again at your leisure ?"

Could she really imagine that he'd want her dead ? It was not possible. She was just completely out of his mind with anger. What was the use of such excessive, angry words ? How could he try to explain, as difficult as it was, if she was decided to interprete wrongly all what he had to say ?

He tried to say as much. But then again, his pooly chosen words made only her anger rose even higher.

TBC

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