"I am going to ask you to go away, Jerry," she went on timidly, but still smiling. "Go away? When? For what purpose?" I exclaimed. "Just go away for me--for my sake," she answered, straightening her body, raising her head, and looking squarely at me with some of her old strength. "You can go to live in a hotel. You can explain that you are forced to do so for some business reason. You can say that I have gone away." She must have seen the flush of my anger, for she raised her hand. "Don't!" she pleaded. "I know very well how unreasonable I may seem. But if I have earned any gratitude or respect or love from you, just give me what I ask now and give it to me blindly--without question." Her eyes held my own as she said these words and I knew she had cast her spell over me. "What do you propose to do for these three weeks?" I asked roughly. "I shall stay in this house," she answered, spacing her words. "Margaret will stay, too. The rest of the servants I shall send away. But of this I want to be sure--you must not come to find me for three weeks. God only knows what would happen if you did." "You are insane!" I cried out, with my hand gripping her round wrist. "It's that which has hung over us." She shook her head. "Worse," said she. Then, as if to assure me that she had not lost her reason, she recalled the months which had just gone and described, as I could not, the change in our home, our life, ourselves. "It is for you!" she broke out finally, as if she were no longer able to be calm. "For you and for our future I am begging you to do what I ask." "Tell me this," said I, stirred by seeing her tremble so violently. "Has something come to you out of the past?" "Yes," she said, reaching behind her for the wall. "Ask nothing more. It has come out of the old, old past. For the love of all that is good, promise to do as I say." "And then?" said I. "Come back to me. I shall be here--then." I bowed my head. "On your word of honor," she commanded. "On my word of honor," said I, and turned away. I had scarcely done so, however, before I felt her arms about me, the impact and the clinging of her body. Close to me, plucking at my fingers, my sleeves, my wrist, her body shaking with her sobs, she covered me with caresses like those given at some parting for eternity. "You--are not--in danger of death!" I exclaimed, holding her away from me at arm's length. "No, I cannot believe that," she said quietly. "Such as I am, I shall be when you come back." With these words she pushed me gently from the room; I found myself looking into the broad white panel of a closed door. I stood there a moment, dazed, then going to my chamber, I, with my own hands, packed a large kit bag, preparing to do as she had asked. It was only after I had reflected on my promise that I went again to speak with her. I knocked. There was no answer. I tried the latch. The door was locked.