--to drive you out of my--my regard--and me from yours."

His face whitened a little under its tan, but the flat jaw muscles
tightened doggedly.

"I don't understand--yet," he said. "And when you tell me--for you will
tell me sooner or later--it will not change me."

"It _must_!"

He shook his head.

She said in desperation: "You cannot care for me too much because you
know that I am--not free."

"Cannot?" He laughed mirthlessly. "I _am_ caring for you--loving
you--every second more and more."

"That is dishonourable," she faltered.

"Why?"

"You _know_!"

"Yes. But if it does not change me how can I help it?"

"You can help making me care for _you_!"

His heart was racing now; every vein ran fiery riot.

"Is there a chance of _that_, Shiela?"

She did not answer, but the tragedy in her slowly lifted eyes appalled
him. Then a rushing confusion of happiness and pain almost stupefied
him.

"You must not be afraid," he managed to say while the pulse hammered in
his throat, and the tumult of his senses deadened his voice to a
whisper.

"I am afraid."

They were near the wagon now; both dismounted under the pines while
Bulow came forward to picket their horses. On their way together among
the trees she looked up at him almost piteously: "You must go if you
talk to me again like this. I could not endure very much of it."

"I don't know what I am going to do," he said in the same curiously
deadened voice. "You must tell me more."

"I cannot. I am--uncertain of myself. I can't think clearly when
we--when you speak to me--this way. Couldn't you go North before
I--before my unhappiness becomes too real--too hard?--couldn't you go
before it is too late--and leave me my peace of mind, my common sense!"

He looked around at her. "Yes," he said, "I will go if there is no
decent chance for us; and if it is not too late."

"I have my common senses still left. It is not too late."

There was a silence. "I will go," he said very quietly.

"W-when?"

"The day we return."

"Can you leave your work?"

"Yes. Halloran knows."

"And--you _will_ go?"

"Yes, if you wish it."

Another silence. Then she shook her head, not looking at him.

"There is no use in going--now."

"Why?"

"Because--because I do not wish it." Her eyes fell lower; she drew a
long, unsteady breath. "And because it is too late," she said. "You
should have gone before I ever knew you--if I was to be spared my peace
of mind."

Gra