"No." Her voice rang. "No. I did it for little Silas; to save him the disgrace. I am going to take him away, where the smallest hint or suspicion can never reach him. But I will not have a divorce—unless you wish." And the break in her voice, the white stillness of her face more than her words convinced him. He rose to his feet. "The scheme was all Mark Stratton’s," he said. "He took advantage of my being in a tight place. He promised to assume the whole risk; let him shoulder the disgrace." She was silent. "Louise," he said desperately, "you can’t be so hard. I know what I did. I know there isn’t the shadow of excuse for me, but you can’t be so hard. You don’t mean a separation. You are only trying me. Fix a limit; give me a certain time to prove myself. Give me some sort of hope, Louise." He was very handsome at that moment. He possessed great personal magnetism; his emotion softened his voice and the brilliancy of his black eyes. He came a step towards her, opening his arms impetuously. "I will do anything you say, Sweetheart; only don’t leave me." She stood shrinking against the table. "I could never respect myself—again," she said slowly, with manifest effort, "unless—you accepted your share of the atonement; and—my own confession—would follow; but—little Silas—would begin life—handicapped." "Silas. Well, it’s all right, put him first; I deserve it. But count in old Si, too; it would cut him pretty bad. After all, we are in the same boat. Let us forget it and make a new start." Her face was very white; her body rocked. He thought that she was falling. He took her in his arms. "Sweetheart," he said, "don’t send me away; I love you so." But she laid her palms against his breast, holding herself aloof. His arms fell. "Then make it a probation," he pleaded. "I will be good. Promise me you will come back—in a year." She shook her head. She was almost past speaking. She braced herself with her hand on the table again, her whole body trembling. "No," she said at last, "no. Please go; don’t say any more. It must be separation—nothing less—as long as we two live!" *CHAPTER XXIV* *"A MAN OF STRAW"* Smith, having slower horses and the bulk of the outfit, started for the Pass at daybreak, with the understanding that Stratton would overtake him at the crossing of the Nisqually; and it was hardly two hours later that the thoroughbred forded the Des Chutes above the lodge, and, followed by a pack-animal, made a sharp ascent to the rock tower, where his master halted to load the remainder of the cache.