t and last time that he
ventured to criticize her. "Oh," he objected, "I don't know what reasons
the poor fellow has for burying himself--they must be good reasons, for
it's no joke to live alone! It doesn't seem quite fair, does it, to dig
him out and write him up in the papers?"

"Oh, what must you think of me!" she murmured in a quick, hurt tone.

He saw that he had made a mistake. "I--I beg your pardon," he stammered
contritely. "I thought that was what you meant by business."

"I'm not a reporter," she said.

"But they told me----"

"Yes, I know, I lied. I'm not apologizing for that. It was necessary to
lie to protect myself from vulgar curiosity."

He looked his question.

She was not quite ready to answer it yet. "Suppose I had the best of
reasons for going," she said, hurriedly, "a reason that Mrs. Grundy
would approve of; it would be your duty as a policeman, wouldn't it, to
help me?"

"Yes--but----?"

She turned imploring eyes on him, and unconsciously clasped her hands.
"I'm sure you're generous and steadfast," she said quickly. "I can trust
you, can't I, not to give me away? The gossip, the curious stares--it
would be more than I could bear! Promise me, whatever you may think of
it all, to respect my secret."

"I promise," he said a little stiffly. It hurt him that he was required
to protest his good faith. "The first thing we learn in the force is to
keep our mouths shut."

"Ah, now you're offended with me because I made you promise!"

"It doesn't matter. It's over now. What is your reason for wanting to go
out to Swan River?"

She answered low: "I am Ernest Imbrie's wife."

"Oh!" said Stonor in a flat tone. A sick disappointment filled him--yet
in the back of his mind he had expected something of the kind. An inner
voice whispered to him: "Not for you! It was too much to hope for!"

Presently she went on: "I injured him cruelly. That's why he buried
himself so far away."

Stonor turned horror-stricken eyes on her.

"Oh, not that," she said proudly and indifferently. "The injury I did
him was to his spirit; that is worse." Stonor turned hot for his
momentary suspicion.

"I can repair it by going to him," she went on. "I _must_ go to him. I
can never know peace until I have tried to make up to him a little of
what I have made him suffer."

She paused to give Stonor a chance to speak--but he was dumb.

Naturally she misunderstood. "Isn't that enough?" she cried painfully.
"I have to