“Well, stand away—stand away from the door. I’m going to break it in!” “No no!—Please don’t! Oh wait Michael!” “Get back by the window! You’re coming with me!” “Stop! Michael—stop! _You’ll hurt me!_ I’m close to the door—right against it! Listen to me, dear—it’ll only make it worse! Yes, it will—whatever you do! He could stop us. There’d be police and, oh! reporters—and everything! I’m sure there would.” Her low voice reached him clearly as she stood close against the door. “What can we do?” he got out, hoarsely. “Nothing now—nothing, dear, just now! I must go with him and you mustn’t do anything! Afterward, when it all quiets down, we’ll find some way!” This poor child was the wise and cool one through it all. Haworth was demented with the hurt of it and his helplessness. “Don’t let him find you here!” she went on. “Let him have his way. Don’t say anything! Good-by, darling. I’ll be—I’ll be loving you always—always—and oh, so much!” Haworth tried to speak, but couldn’t. After a time he moved slowly away. And now she was coming down the stairs, buttoning one of her gloves and with her white face showing through the veil. He knew that she passed close to him and felt the thrill of her nearness. Then came the terrifying consciousness that she was going away from him. After that she was gone. Findlay, waiting outside, saw her seated in the taxi; then he entered the house. Seeing Haworth near the stairway, he walked down the hall and got out between his teeth with a peculiar low-voiced malevolence: “You dirty loafer! You —— —— ——! Sometime—yes, by God! I’m going to get even with you.” Having delivered himself of which, he strode through the front door. A moment later the taxicab could be heard driving away. PART V For interminable weeks Haworth had no idea where they were. Edith had asked him not to try to find her, and he would do nothing against her wishes. Most of the time he was sitting somewhere in the house—he didn’t notice where—staring before him with wide open eyes that saw nothing. Hulda brought him “just a taste” of this or that at meal times and he’d make an attempt to eat a little so she wouldn’t feel hurt. Sometimes he would start walking aimlessly about the house. For quite a time he couldn’t bring himself to enter the room Edith had occupied—his own room. But the time came when, with a fearful sinking of the heart, he opened the door. After a while he ventured in a little way and stood looking at the dressing table with the chair before it. He could picture her there so well. His eyes slowly moved to other things—the bureau, the chairs, the bed with the soft rug at the side where her small white feet so often touched before she could find her bedroom slippers. Very soon—on his first visit—he had to turn away and hasten gropingly out of the room. He was there again the next day, and on the floor of the great wardrobe he found the worn little shoes that were on her feet the day she came.