shaping took
definite form. She was really helping him to do the thing he felt he must
do.

He turned to her heavily like a man under the influence of a drug. "Yes,
I'll go away for a while," he agreed. "I'll make arrangements right
away--to-morrow."

"And I'll go with you," she said with decision, "and help to drive the
evil hours away." She had his face between her hands and was smiling
encouragingly.

The words were like a dagger thrust. Surely, they were proof of fidelity,
of affection, and in his heart he had condemned her.

"Would you like to go with me, Sylvia?" he asked. His voice had become
husky.

She drew back from him as if she were performing a little rite. Her eyes
filled with tears. "Harboro!" she cried, "do you need to ask me that?" Her
fingers sought his face and traveled with ineffable tenderness from line
to line. It was as if she were playing a little love-lyric of her own upon
a beautiful harp. And then she fell upon his breast and pressed her cheek
to his. "Harboro!" she cried again. She had seen only the suffering in his
eyes.

He held her in his arms and leaned back with closed eyes. A hymn of praise
was singing through all his being. She loved him! she loved him! And then
that hymn of praise sank to pianissimo notes and was transformed by some
sort of evil magic to something shockingly different. It was as if a
skillful yet unscrupulous musician were constructing a revolting medley,
placing the sacred song in juxtaposition with the obscene ditty. And the
words of the revolting thing were "Runyon and Sylvia! Runyon and Sylvia!"

He opened his eyes resolutely. "We're making too much over a little
matter," he said with an obvious briskness which hid the cunning in his
mind. "I suppose I've been sticking to things too close. I'll take a run
down the line and hunt up some of the old fellows--down as far as Torreon
at least. I'll rough it a little. I suspect things have been a little too
soft for me here. Maybe some of the old-timers will let me climb up into a
cab and run an engine again. That's the career for a man--with the
distance rushing upon you, and your engine swaying like a bird in the air!
That will fix me!"

He got up with an air of vigor, helping Sylvia to her feet. "It wouldn't
be the sort of experience a woman could share," he added. "You'll stay
here at home and get a little rest yourself. I must have been spoiling
things for you, too." He looked at her shrewdly.

"Oh, no,"