'Where are you going?' He raised his voice. 'Why should I remind _any_body of what I want only to forget?' 'Hush! Oh, hush!' A moment she looked back, holding up praying hands. His eyes had flown to the door. 'You don't mean _she's_----' 'Yes. I left her to get a little rest.' He recoiled in an access of uncontrollable anger. She followed him. Speechless, he eluded her, and went for his hat. 'Geoffrey,' she cried, 'don't go before you hear me. I don't know if what I think matters to you now, but I hope it does. You can still'--her voice was faint with tears--'still make me think of you without shrinking--if you will.' He fixed her for a moment with eyes more stern than she had ever seen. 'What is it you are asking of me?' he said. 'To make amends, Geoffrey.' His anger went out on a wave of pity. 'You poor little innocent!' 'I'm poor enough. But'--she locked her hands together like one who summons all her resolution--'I'm not so innocent but what I know you must right that old wrong now, if you're ever to right it.' 'You aren't insane enough to think I would turn round in these few hours and go back to something that ten years ago was ended forever!' As he saw how unmoved her face was, 'Why,' he burst out, 'it's stark, staring madness!' 'No!' She caught his arm. 'What you did ten years ago--that was mad. This is paying a debt.' Any man looking on, or hearing of Stonor's dilemma, would have said, 'Leave the girl alone to come to her senses.' But only a stupid man would himself have done it. Stonor caught her two hands in his, and drew her into his arms. 'Look, here, Jeannie, you're dreadfully wrought up and excited--tired, too.' 'No!' She freed herself, and averted the tear-stained face. 'Not tired, though I've travelled far to-day. I know you smile at sudden conversions. You think they're hysterical--worse--vulgar. But people must get their revelation how they can. And, Geoffrey, if I can't make you see this one of mine, I shall know your love could never mean strength to me--only weakness. And I shall be afraid,' she whispered. Her dilated eyes might have seen a ghost lurking there in the commonplace room. 'So afraid I should never dare give you the chance of making me loathe myself.' There was a pause, and out of the silence fell words that were like the taking of a vow. 'I would never see you again.' 'How right I was to be afraid of that vein of fanaticism in you!' 'Certainly you couldn't make a greater mistake than to go away now and think it any good ever to come back. Even if I came to feel different, I couldn't _do_ anything different. I should _know_ all this couldn't be forgotten. I should know that it would poison my life in the end--yours too.' 'She has made good use of her time!' he said bitterly. Then, upon a sudden thought, 'What has changed _her_? Has she been seeing visions too?' 'What do you mean?'