like the farm, Maggie?"

"I love it."

"Do you? I was afraid you didn't. I thought you hated the country."

"I love it. I love it."

"Oh, well then, you shan't leave it. I'll keep on the farm for you. And,
see here, don't worry about things. I'll look after you, all your life,
dear."

"Look after me?" Her face brightened, "Like you used to?"

"Provide for you."

"Oh!" she cried. "_That_! I don't want to be provided for. I won't have
it. I'd rather be let alone and die."

"Maggie, I know it's hard on you. Don't make it harder. Don't make it
hard for me."

"You?" she sobbed.

"Yes, me. It's all wrong. I'm all wrong. I can't do the right thing,
whatever I do. It's wrong to stay with you. It's wrong, it's brutally
wrong to leave you. But that's what I've got to do."

"You said--you only said--just now--you'd got to end it."

"That's it. I've got to end it."

She stood up flaming.

"End it then. End it this minute. Give up the farm. Send me away. I'll go
anywhere you tell me. Only don't say you won't come and see me."

"See you? Don't you understand, Maggie, that seeing you is what I've got
to give up? The other things don't matter."

"Ah," she cried, "it's you who don't understand. I mean--I mean--see me
like you used to. That's all I want, Wallie. Only just to see you. That
wouldn't be awful, would it? There wouldn't be any sin in that?"

Sin? It was the first time she had ever said the word. The first time, he
imagined, she had formed the thought.

"Poor little girl," he said. "No, no, dear, it wouldn't do. It sounds
simple, but it isn't."

"But," she said, bewildered, "I love you."

He smiled. "That's why, Maggie, that's why. You've been very sweet and
very good to me. And that's why I mustn't see you. That's how you make it
hard for me."

Maggie sat down and put her elbows on the table and hid her face in her
hands.

"Will you give me some tea?" he said abruptly.

She rose.

"It's all stewed. I'll make fresh."

"No. That'll do. I can't wait."

She gave him his tea. Before he tasted it he got up and poured out a cup
for her. She drank a little at his bidding, then pushed the cup from her,
choking. She sat, not looking at him, but looking away, through the
window, across the garden and the fields.

"I must go now," he said. "Don't come with me."

She started to her feet.

"Ah, let me come."

"Better not. Much better not."

"I must," she said.

They set out along the field-track