"Yes," answered Juliet stoutly, "if she insisted." "Women are capable of saying anything in an argument," he growled. "I say it's outrageous to let her do it. She doesn't love him--she does love me," he blurted. Juliet turned to him anxiously. "Roger, do you know what you are saying?" "Yes, I do. I've got to tell somebody, and there's nobody but you--you perfect woman. If ever a man knew a thing without its being put into words I know that. It was only a look, weeks ago, but I'm as sure of it as I am of myself. I've had nothing but coolness from her since, but that's in self-defense. And the thought that, loving me, she's going to give herself to him--a wreck--do you wonder it's driving me mad?" "You ought not to have told me this," said Juliet, tears in her voice. "If Rachel is doing this it's because she's sure she ought----" "Of course she is. And that's why I tell you. You have more influence with her than any one. Can't you show her that duty, the most urgent in the world, never requires a thing like that? Let her be his friend to the last--the sort of friend she knows how to be, with a warm hand in his cold one. But never his----" The doctor grew choky with his vehemence, and stopped short. Juliet was silent, full of distress. She thought of the two men--Huntington, a frail ghost, in the grip of a deadly illness, yet fighting it desperately, and desperately clinging to the girl he loved: a clever fellow, educated as a mining engineer, successful, even beginning to be distinguished in his work until his health gave out; Barnes, the embodiment of strength, standing high in his profession, life and the world before him, a fit mate for the girl who deserved the best there could be for her--Juliet thought of them both and found her heart aching for them--and for Rachel Redding. They were slowly approaching the brown house at the foot of the hill, the errand at the Evanstons' forgotten, when suddenly a familiar figure in white came toward them from the doorway. The doctor started at sight of it, and Juliet grew breathless all at once. "I thought it was you two," said Rachel. "This rising moon struck you full just now, and I could see you plainly. I've wanted to see you both--and this is my last chance. I am going away to-morrow." There was an instant's silence, while Roger Barnes tried to choose which of all the things he wanted to say to her should come first. Juliet broke the stillness. "Walk back up the road with us, dear," she said, "and tell us how and where you go." "I have but a minute to spare," said Rachel. "Let me say good-bye to you both here----" "No, by heaven, you shall not," burst out the doctor in a suppressed voice of fire which startled Juliet. "You owe me ten minutes, in place of the last letter you haven't answered. There are a score of them, you know--but the last has to be answered somehow." Rachel hesitated. "Very well," she said at length, "but only with Mrs. Robeson."