“I mean that you will never go anywhere with me again,” he said. “But—but—” she stumbled over the words, hearing other words ringing like hammer-strokes in her brain,—“he will kill you—he has sworn to kill you if you go his way again.” “Do you think you could prevent it,” said Rotherby. She crumpled the paper in her hand. “Yes, I could—I would—somehow.” “Very well. You can,” he said. His manner baffled her. She looked at him uncertainly. “Tell me what you mean!” she said again. He made a curious gesture, as of a player who tosses down his last card knowing himself a loser. “I mean,” he said, “that you can go in my place. Either that—or I go alone.” Then she understood him, read the strategy by which he had sought to prove himself, and a deep pity surged up within her, blotting out all that had gone before. “But I couldn’t possibly go,” she said. “It wouldn’t really help either, though—” she halted a little—“I know quite well what made you do it—and—I am grateful.” “One of us will go,” Rotherby said with decision. “That I swear to God. It is for you to decide which.” There was indomitable resolution in his voice. Very suddenly she realized that the way before her was barred. She drew back instinctively. “But that is absurd,” she said. “You know quite well that there is nothing to be gained by going.” “Except a modicum of self-respect,” said Rotherby. “It may not be worth much, but, strange to say, I value it. I will forego it for your sake, but for no other consideration under the sun.” He was immovable; she saw it. Yet in despair she made another effort to move him. “But how could I go?” she protested. “It is utterly out of the question. You know it is out of the question.” “Do I know it?” said Rotherby, with his faint half-scoffing smile. “If you think at all, you must,” she said. “I couldn’t possibly face it. Not after—after——” “After he has been told the truth in such a fashion that he cannot possibly doubt you,” said Rotherby. “Forgive me, but I thought—love—was capable of anything. If it isn’t, well—as I said before—I go alone. That is quite final, so we needn’t argue about it. There is a train to Fordestown at five this afternoon. I shall go by that, and pick up a conveyance at the station.” “There are none,” she said, clutching at a straw. “Then I shall go to The Man in the Moon for one. Anyway, I shall keep my appointment—with time to spare,” said Rotherby. “You might give us a thought before you turn in. It’ll be an interesting interview—even more so than our last.” He swung upon his heel with the words, but Frances threw out a hand, grasping his arm. “Montague,—please—you’re not in earnest! You can’t be! I mean—it’s so utterly preposterous.” He stood still, the smile gone from his face. Very suddenly he threw aside the cloak of irony in which he had wrapped himself, and met her appeal with absolute sincerity.