Vanna looked at him sharply. They were sitting together on a sofa drawn up before the fire, and the kindly glow hid the sudden whitening of her cheeks. She leant back against the pillows, feeling faint and sick with the rapid beating of her heart. "Not--very, Piers! Tell me quickly. Don't wait." "Vanna, I'm going abroad." Her eyes dilated with surprise. This was not what she had expected. Compared with the greater dread, the announcement came almost as a relief. She struggled with the oppression in her throat and breathed a breathless, "Where?" "To India. I have a chance. A junior partner is invalided home. I can take his place for a few years. It is the best thing--I am sure of it. I have made up my mind." "Is it because you are--_tired_ of me, Piers?" He turned upon her in passionate protest. "Tired? Heaven knows I am tired; tired to the soul of waiting for the woman I love; of eternal fighting against self! It's more than I can bear. I can't go on without some change, some break." "You would find it easier to leave me?" He hesitated, shrinking, then braced himself to a painful effort. "Yes! it would be easier. You think me brutal, but I am a man. I cannot endure this life. If you cannot be my wife, I must go. It is hard to part, but it will help us both, and after a year or two we can begin afresh. I have been trying to tell you. I was thankful to know you were to be here, with Jean, for I must sail soon. In a few weeks." "Yes." Vanna had a sudden rending remembrance of the moment when she sat in Dr Greatman's consulting-room, and heard her life laid waste. Now, as then, she felt no disposition to weep or lament; the fountains of her heart were frozen, and she was numb with pain. "Yes; I suppose so. The best time for the Red Sea. You must avoid the heat... You will enjoy the voyage, Piers." Her frozen calm was more piteous than tears. Piers groaned, and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, Vanna, Vanna! my poor, poor darling! What must you think of me? I have failed you after all my vows; and yet, God knows, it is _because_ I love you, because my love is stronger than myself, that I must go! You will never understand, but can't you believe me? Can't you trust me still?" "I know you love me, Piers. Will you write to me when you are away?" "Will I write? Do you need to ask? I shall live for your letters. There will be nothing else to look for but their arrival, and being able to write back, and tell you all my thoughts. I'll make a diary for you, dearest; write something every day, so that each mail shall bring you a small volume. We have always maintained that distance could make no difference to our love, but it does this much, darling--it silences angry words! I have made you miserable with my repinings many times these last years; but whatever I might feel, I could never endure to send a hard word travelling to you across the world. It may be happier for you, darling--more peaceful."