He doesn't understand you as
I do ... and he's fully your equal--fully--in every way--and then
some--" The weariness in his tone was close to a sneer; he dropped his
cigarette into the fire and began to roll another.

"Louis," said Portlaw, frightened.

"Well?"

"What the devil is the meaning of all this? You _are_ coming back,
aren't you?"

Malcourt continued to roll his cigarette, but after a while he spoiled
it and began to construct another.

"_Are_ you, Louis?"

"What?"

"Coming back here--soon?"

"If I--if it's the thing to do. I don't know yet. You mustn't press the
matter now."

"You think there's a chance that you won't come back at _all_!"
exclaimed Portlaw, aghast.

Malcourt's cigarette fell to pieces in his fingers.

"I'll come if I can, Billy. I tell you to let me alone.... I don't know
where I am coming out--yet."

"If it's money you need, you know perfectly well--"

But Malcourt shook his head. From the moment of his entrance he had kept
his face carefully averted from Hamil's view; had neither looked at him
nor spoken except in monosyllabic answer to a single question.

The rattle of the buckboard on the wet gravel drive brought Portlaw to
his feet. A servant appeared with Malcourt's suit-case and overcoat.

"There's a trunk to follow; Williams is to pack what I need....
Good-bye, Billy. I wouldn't go if I didn't have to."

Portlaw took his offered hand as though dazed.

"You'll come back, of course," he said, "in a couple of days--or a week
if you like--but you'll be back, of course. You know if there's anything
the matter with your salary just say so. I always meant you should feel
perfectly free to fix your salary to suit yourself. Only be sure to come
back in a week, won't you?"

"Good-bye," said Malcourt in a low voice. "I'd like to talk to Hamil--if
he can give me a few moments."

Bareheaded, Hamil stepped out into the clear, crisp, April sunshine
where the buckboard stood on the gravel.

The strong outdoor light emphasized Malcourt's excessive pallor, and the
hand he offered Hamil was icy. Then his nervous grasp relaxed; he drew
on his dog-pelt driving gloves and buttoned the fur coat to the throat.

"I want you--to--to remember--remember that I always liked you," he said
with an effort, in curious contrast to his habitual fluency. "You won't
believe it--some day. But it is true.... Perhaps I'll prove it, yet....
My father used to say that everything except death had be