her face looking down at the letter which he had
not yet begun to write. He still made no attempt to rise, for now her
face was in full golden light, and he could see its every feature.

"It is so difficult," he said, "not to write drivel when one is saying
good-bye."

"You are going away?" she asked.

"Yes."

"To-night?"

"In half an hour."

"You are going abroad?"

"Certainly."

"Why?"

This last question came abruptly, in harsh, trenchant tones,
altogether different to those of her smooth contralto voice. He turned
his eyes away from her face, and looked down at his own hands, which
were clasped in front of him.

"Because," he replied without the slightest hesitation, "I cannot face
what lies before me if I remain."

"Why not?"

"For many reasons. There's Uncle Rad to consider first and foremost,
then Edie, and Jim, and Frank."

"What have they to do with it?"

"Everything. After the evidence at the inquest to-day a warrant will
be out for my arrest within the next few hours."

"What of it?"

"The evidence against me is overwhelming. I should be tried, perhaps
hanged, for murder, at best sent to penal servitude for life. I cannot
chance that. I must think of Uncle Rad, of Edie, of Jim and of Frank."

"You have yourself to think of first and foremost."

"Well," he retorted simply, "I have thought of myself, and I do not
see how with my own dagger-stick brought up in evidence against me,
and my ill-feeling toward--toward the dead man so well-known, I can
possibly escape condemnation."

He spoke in such even and perfectly natural tones, that just for a
moment--it was a mere flash--Louisa wondered if he were absolutely
sane. It seemed impossible that any man could preserve such calm in
face of the most appalling fate that ever threatened human being. She,
too, like the indifferent, hide-bound official this afternoon was
seized with an irrepressible desire to break through that surface of
ice. The outer covering must be very thin, she thought; her presence
must have melted all the coldness that lay immediately below the
surface. Without saying another word, quietly and simply she came down
on her knees. Her skirts had not swished as she did so, not a sound
from her revealed the movement. When he looked up again, her face was
on a level with his, and her eyes--those great luminous eyes that shed
no tears at moments such as this--looked straight into his own.

"For pity's sake, Lou," he said, "