gazing at her.

"Oh, do speak to me!" she sobbed. "Do say something! Do you know what
they want to do? But I won't let them--I won't let them! It--it's too
dreadful a thing to happen to a woman. I can't bear it. I won't bear it.
It will be much easier to die. But you shall know the truth first."

"Cynthia, stop!" It was West's voice at last, but not as she had ever
heard it. It came from him hoarse and desperate, as though wrung by the
extreme of torture. He had sunk to his knees by the bed. His face was
nearer to hers than it had ever been before. "Don't cry!" he begged her
huskily. "Don't cry! Why do you tell me this if it hurts you to tell
me?"

"Because I want you to know!" gasped Cynthia. "Wait! Let me finish! I
wanted--to see--if--if you really cared for me. I thought--if you
did--you wouldn't be able to go on pretending. But--but--you managed
to--somehow--after all."

She ended, battling with her tears; and West, the strong, the cold, the
cynical, bowed his head upon her hand and groaned.

"It was for--your own sake," he muttered brokenly, without looking up.

"I know," whispered back Cynthia. "That was just what made it so
impossible to bear. Because, you see, I cared, too."

He was silent, breathing heavily.

Cynthia watched his bent head wistfully, but she did not speak again
till she had mastered her own weakness.

"Mr. West," she said softly at length.

He stirred, pressing her hand more tightly to his eyes.

"I am going to tell you now," proceeded Cynthia, "just why I asked you
to come to me. I suppose you know all about this trouble of mine--that I
shall either die very soon, or else have to carry my arm in a sling for
the rest of my life. Now that's where you come in. Would you--would you
feel very badly if I died, I wonder?"

He raised his head at that, and she saw his face as she had seen it once
long ago--alert, vital, full of the passionate intensity of his love for
her.

"You sha'n't die!" he declared fiercely. "Who says you are going to
die?"

Cynthia's eyes fell before the sudden fire that blazed at her from his.
"Unless I consent to be a cripple all my days," she said, with a curious
timidity wholly unlike her usual dainty confidence.

"Of course you will consent," West said, sweeping down her half-offered
resistance with sheer, overmastering strength. "You'll face this thing
like the brave woman you are. Good heavens! As if there were any
choice!"

"There is," Cynthia whispe