"Do you want me to go home and go to bed decently and sleep?" he said. "Do you suppose I would not, if I could? I always start from here and come back here. I say to myself, 'It will take me an hour to reach the place where I can see her window.' It is something to hold one's mind in check with. This rambling--and--and forgetting what one has meant to think about is a terrible thing." "Come home with me," she said. "We will not talk. You can lie on the sofa and we will go away. I want your mother to sleep." Something in her presence began to influence him to a saner mood. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "It is midnight." "I am not afraid. I could not bear to stay in the house. We sit there----" An idea seemed to strike him suddenly. He stopped her and asked deliberately: "Did you come because you thought I might do myself harm?" She would not answer, and after waiting a second or so he went on slowly: "I have thought I might myself--sometimes, but never for long. You have no need to fear. I am always stopped by the thought that--perhaps--it is not worth it after all. When things look clearer, I shall get over it. Yes--I think I shall get over it--though now there seems to be no end. But--some day--it will come--and I shall get over it. Don't be afraid that I shall do myself harm. If I am not killed--before the end comes--I shall not kill myself. I shall know it was not worth it after all." The tears had been running down her cheeks as she stood, but she bit her lip and forced herself to breathe evenly, so that he might not find her out. But just then, as he moved, a great drop fell upon the back of his hand. He stopped and began to tremble. "Good heavens!" he cried. "You are crying. Why do you cry for me?" "Because I cannot help it," she said in a half-whisper. "I do not cry often. I never cried for any one before." "I'll take you home," he said, moving slowly along at her side. "Don't cry." CHAPTER XLV. "IT IS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT." A week or so later Saint Meran went away. Ffrench informed his partner of this fact with a secret hope of its producing upon him a somewhat softening effect. But Haworth received the statement with coolness. "He'll come back again," he said. "Let him alone for that." The general impression was that he would return. The opinion most popular in the more humble walks of Broxton society was that he had gone "to get hissen ready an' ha' th' papers drawed up," and that he would appear some fine day with an imposing retinue, settle an enormous fortune upon Miss Ffrench, and, having been united to her with due grandeur and solemnity, would disappear with her to indefinitely "furrin" parts.