It was impossible because she could no longer remain in the same house with him and Miss Wilmer--and yet to tell him why would be to tell him all and she had told him too much already. It was impossible because even if Miss Wilmer accepted her, the valley folk would not. Yet, if she told him that, his next question would be to ask why, then, had she come? To answer that would be to tell him all. It was impossible finally because it was utterly impossible. If ever she left this house with him, Bud remaining behind alive, it would mean his death more surely than as though she had not come at all. She knew how Bud felt out there. She knew it with a keen realization of the anguish he was suffering, which amounted at moments almost to pity. Bud--he deserved it. He had brought it on himself. And yet it was cruel hard. She did not enjoy seeing any one suffer. When she saw a man kick a vicious dog, she was sorry for the dog. And Bud--he had his bad points, but he was not a dog. Had Allston killed the man outright, fighting for his own life as he had a right to do, she would have felt no regret. Obliged to choose between the two men, she would not have hesitated to choose for Allston. And she realized that all Allston had done to Bud, after coming here, was necessary. Only he should not have come. That was the pity of it. His coming left her with no alternative--and without her dreams. Bud could not be allowed to starve to death out there. Some one would free him. Once free, he would kill. There would be no hand left to stop him. It was doubtful if now even she could stop him. But she must try. To do that she must remain behind with him. She must give her life--anything Bud asked for--to buy him off from his revenge. He would ask all. There was no doubt about that. Perhaps in the end she might not have enough. And yet if he wanted much she would have much to give. The more he wanted, the more she would be able to give. So in the end she must make him want--must whet his appetite. Here was a grim test for a woman. But that was all to come later. For the present she was concerned alone with Allston. He must go and she must stay. The sooner this happened, the better it would be for both. And this drove her quickly and definitely to her final sacrifice. There was just one way in which she could bring this about; one clear, logical way that would answer for all time his every question and send him home safe and happy to Wilmer. It came to her, as he reëntered the room with his jaws set so firmly, that she was half afraid of him. As she thought of her plan, she sprang to her feet and faced him with a nervous tremor. Most of the color had gone from her cheeks on the instant. “Roxie.” He spoke sharply--incisively. She had never heard his voice like that. “Yes, sir,” she answered. “Put on your hat and coat.” “What fer?” “We’re going now.” “Goin’ now? No, sir, I ain’t goin’ now.” “Don’t delay,” he ordered. “And don’t be foolish.”