old you--ever at all," he went on. "But I
am going away to-morrow--"

Then she found her voice.

"Why _are_ you going away to-morrow? Give it up, my heart's love, and
stay near me."

"That is just why I am going away--to be away from you for a few days.
Wait," seeing she was about to interrupt. "This was my idea. I wanted
to be at such a distance that it would be impossible to see you merely
by taking one hour's short ride. I wanted to try if I could break the
influence which you were so surely weaving round me."

"Ah, why would you try?"

"For the good of us both; but especially for your good. Listen, Mona.
I am no longer young, and my experience of the world is not small.
Well, nothing lasts. We are both of a strong nature. Two strong
natures cannot fuse, cannot intertwine. Then comes disillusion."

"Now, I wonder if, since the world began, any living woman was ever
convinced by such reasoning as that," said Mona decisively. But not
heeding her, he went on--

"To every one of us the cup of life is filled but once. The contents of
mine are nearer the dregs than the brim; whereas you are but beginning
to sip at yours."

"Which dark syllogism I quite grasp, and fully appreciate--at its proper
value," she returned. "But come; have we not had about enough solemn
wisdom beneath the stars? Why, just before we first saw you--here, on
this very spot--Gracie was trying to make me believe you were quite a
sober and middle-aged fogey. Those were her words; and if you go on a
little longer in this strain, I shall begin to think she was right. I
remember, too, how I answered her. I said I was about tired of boys.
So let's hear no more about `cups of life' and `dregs,' but repeat what
you said just now--just before--my beloved one!"

The glad, laughing voice changed to one of tenderest adjuration. And it
may be that he did repeat it.

"Now," he went on, "would you rather I had told you this before going
away, or after my return?"

"But you are not going away, now?"

"I am--more than ever, I was going to say. I want a few days to think."

"Roden!" she exclaimed suddenly, with a catching in her voice; "this is
not an artifice? You are coming back--coming back to me?"

"If John Kaffir allows me--certainly. Dwelling a moment upon which
consideration, perhaps that is why I told you before I left, what I have
just told you. Would you rather I had not?"

"Would I rather forego one moment of the life,