ut fiercely. "I'm not fit to speak to
you, not fit to touch your hand. You--you--I believe you'd be kind to me
if I would let you. But I won't--I won't! I'm going away. It rests with
me now to protect you somehow, and there is no other way."

He ceased to speak, and in the silence she watched his bent head, greatly
wondering, deeply pitying. When he stood up again she knew that the
tumult that tore his soul had been forced down out of sight.

"You see how it is with me, Anne," he said very sadly. "Tawny Hudson
thinks I'm a devil, and I'm not sure--even now--that he isn't right.
That's why I'm going away. I won't have you trust me, for I can't trust
myself. And you have no one to protect you from me. So you won't blame me
for going? You'll understand?"

His words went straight to her heart. She felt the quick tears
rising, but she kept them back. She knew that he needed strength from
her just then.

And so, after a moment, she commanded herself, and answered him.

"I think you are quite right to go, Nap. And--yes, I understand.
Only--some day--some day--come back again!"

He leaned towards her. His face had flashed into sudden vitality at her
words. He made a movement as if he would take her into his arms. And then
abruptly, almost with violence, he withdrew himself, and gripped his
hands together behind him.

Standing so, with the moonlight shining on his face, he showed her that
which her heart ached to see. For though the dusky eyes were fixed and
still, unveiled but unrevealing, though the high cheek-bones and lantern
jaw were grim as beaten brass, she had a glimpse beyond of the seething,
volcanic fires she dreaded, and she knew that he had spoken the truth. It
was better for them both that he should go.

"I will come back to you, Anne," he said, speaking very steadily. "I
will come back to you--if I find I can."

It was final, and she knew it. She held out her hand to him in silence,
and he, stooping, pressed it dumbly against his lips.

Thereafter they walked back to the house together, and parted
without a word.

CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE FURNACE

Capper looked round with a certain keenness that was not untouched with
curiosity when Nap unexpectedly followed him to his room that night.

"Are you wanting anything?" he demanded, with his customary directness.

"Nothing much," Nap said. "You might give me a sleeping-draught if you're
disposed to be charitable. I seem to have lost the knack of