Winston turned away, walking to
the end of the short platform, staring off objectless into the grim
desert, fighting manfully in an effort to conquer himself. This was a
struggle, a remorseless struggle, for both of them; he must do nothing,
say nothing, which should weaken her, or add an ounce to her burden.
He came back again, his lips firmly closed in repression.

"Our train is nearly here," he said in lack of something better with
which to break the constrained silence.

She glanced about doubtfully, first toward the yet distant train, then
up into his face.

"When is the local east due here? Do you know?"

"Probably an hour later than the express. At least, I judge so from
the time of its arrival at Bolton," he responded, surprised at the
question. "Why do you ask?"

She did not smile, or stir, except to lean slightly forward, her eyes
falling from his face to the platform.

"Would--would it be too much if I were to ask you to permit me to take
this first train alone?" she asked, her voice faltering, her hands
trembling where they were clasped in her lap.

His first bewildered surprise precluded speech; he could only look at
her in stupefied amazement. Then something within her lowered face
touched him with pity.

"Beth," he exclaimed, hardly aware of the words used, "do you mean
that? Is it your wish that we part here?

"Oh, no, not that!" and she rose hastily, holding to the back of the
bench with one hand, and extending the other. "Do not put it in that
way. Such an act would be cruel, unwarranted. But I am so tired, so
completely broken down. It has seemed all night long as though my
brain were on fire; every step of the horse has been torture. Oh, I
want so to be alone--alone! I want to think this out; I want to face
it all by myself. Merciful God! it seems to me I shall be driven
insane unless I can be alone, unless I can find a way into some peace
of soul. Do not blame me; do not look at me like that, but be
merciful--if you still love me, let me be alone."

He grasped the extended hand, bending low over it, unwilling in that
instant that she should look upon his face. Again and again he pressed
his dry lips upon the soft flesh.

"I do love you, Beth," he said at last, chokingly, "love you always, in
spite of everything. I will do now as you say. Your train is already
here. You know my address in Denver. Don't make this forever,
Beth--don't do that."

She did not answer him