The Virginian's face paled, and his question came with an irritable
quickness, "In what fashion have I changed?"

"In a way, I think I've recovered my balance," she said with deep
seriousness. "I couldn't have done it without you. You've taken my
troubles on yourself, but at a heavy price, dear. They've preyed on you
until now it's _you_ who can't trust his judgment. All you say
influences me, but it's no longer because of its logic, it's because I
love you and you're talking to my heart."

Farquaharson paced the frosty path of the woods where they were talking.
His face was dark and his movements nervous so Conscience would not let
herself look at him. She had something difficult to say and of late she
had not felt strong enough to spend vitality with wastefulness.

"You say I'm wrecking both our lives...." she went on resolutely. "I
don't want to wreck either ... but yours I couldn't bear to wreck. I
love you enough to make any sacrifice for you ... even enough to give
you up."

Stuart wheeled and his attitude stiffened to rigidity. The woods raced
about him in crazy circles, and before his eyes swam spots of yellow and
orange.

"Do you mean--" he paused to moisten his lips with his tongue and found
his tongue, too, suddenly dry--"do you mean that you've let this tyranny
of weakness conquer you? Have you promised to exile me?"

She flinched as she had flinched on the one other occasion when he had
accused her of a disloyalty which would have been impossible to her, but
she was too unhappy to be angry.

"No," she said slowly, "I haven't even considered such a promise. I said
just now that you had changed. The other Stuart Farquaharson wouldn't
have suspected me of that."

"Then what in Heaven's name do you mean?"

"I mean that you must go away--for awhile. It's only selfishness that
has blinded me to that all along. I'm killing all the best in you by
keeping you here."

"You are strong enough to bear the direct strain, I suppose," he accused
with a bitter smile. "But I'm too weak to endure even its reflection."

"It's always easier to bear trouble oneself," she reminded him with a
gracious patience, "than to see the person one loves subjected to it."

"When did you think of this?"

"I didn't think of it myself," she told him with candid directness. "I
guess I was too selfish. Mr. Tollman suggested it."

"Mr. Tollman!" The name burst from his lips like an anathema and a
sudden gust of fury swept him fr