ghed, "I believe you will wage war on me humanely."

The man went on hurriedly. "I've been talking with the doctor. He says
that your father's condition holds no immediate danger--danger of death,
I mean. Unless he suffers another stroke, he may live for years."

The girl nodded her head. "Yes, I know," she said wearily, "and for him
life only means continuation of suffering." She did not add that it
meant the same for her and Stuart, looking steadily into her face, said
with decision, "For awhile you must go away."

"I!" Her eyes widened with an incredulous expression as if she thought
she had misunderstood, then she answered slowly and very gently, "You
_know_ I can't do that, dear."

"I know that you must," he countered, and because he had keyed himself
for this combat of wills he spoke more categorically than he realized.
"At first thought, of course, you would feel that you couldn't. But your
ability to stand a long siege will depend on conserving your strength.
You are human and not indestructible."

She shook her head with a gentle stubbornness. "Stuart, dear, you're
trying to make me do a thing you wouldn't do yourself. A sentry placed
on duty can't go away until his watch is over--even if it's raw and
gloomy where's he's stationed."

"No, but soldiers under intolerable stress are relieved and given
breathing space whenever it's possible."

"Yes, whenever it's possible."

"It's possible, now, dearest, and perhaps it won't be later. You could
visit some friend for a few weeks and come back the better able to carry
on the siege. Otherwise you'll be crushed by the weight of the ordeal."

"Stuart," she began slowly, "who is there to take my place, even for a
few weeks?"

"And the whole intolerable situation arises," he broke out with a
sudden inflection of wrath, "from inert, thick-skulled bigotry. Thought
processes that are moral cramps and mental dyspepsia threaten to ruin
your entire life."

"Don't, dear--please!" She leaned toward him and spoke earnestly. "I
know it's hard to endure without retort, but please don't make me listen
to things like that about Father. It's bad enough without any more
recriminations."

Then logic retreated from Stuart Farquaharson. He, the gracious and
controlled, gave way to his first moment of ungenerous temper and
retorted bitterly.

"Very well, but it seems you can listen to his abuse of me."

Conscience flinched as if lash-stung and for an instant indignation and