He turned upon her a face she scarcely knew, in which warred fiercely the stormy elements of his strangely complex nature. Mingling oddly with a numb, gray misery, there was something else, a troubled light like a clouded dawn. Full in the radiance from the street lamp, his eyes burned with the fire lighted from the dying, crimson embers of an autumn sunset upon a hearth of gray, and behind the flame brooded the deep shadows of despair. His voice was bitterly harsh, dissonant; a challenge to tearing winds and thunderous seas of life, like the wild note of the winging gulls. "Why? Why not? Girl, I'm down again, I'm not fit to touch you. I've just told you. This thing was born with me, it'll die with me--I hope. If I've got to carry it--beyond--I pray God will snuff out my soul--like a candle! Can't you see it's the only way? To go--alone,--to bear it--alone,--to fight--alone,--to lie down--alone,--at the end of the long road!" "You leave tonight?" "Yes, dear." "Where are you going?" "Oh, I'm not tramping, not this time," he answered wearily. "The letters I've just mailed are for Harkins and Glenwood. I've told them I'm sorry, and God knows I mean it. But the old fever is burning my brain, girl. I've stayed my stay here. I've gone down twice and it's too much. I've lost the right to inflict myself further on the town. If I stayed it would mean better things for me on the paper, but I can't stay. It's queer--you can't understand it--I can't myself,--but the time has come and I must be moving. It's the old voice calling. This afternoon I was looking out over the harbor--that old something came rushing out of nowhere and took me by the neck--sometimes I think I'm crazy. I put my hand in my pocket, there was a message I hadn't opened. I'm called to Denver--an old associate--something bigger than I've ever had. They're in a hurry. I wired them I'd leave tonight. I'll be with them for a while, then the trail once more." He told it wholly without animation, the fruits of success as ashes upon his lips, only a dull hopelessness in his haggard face as he looked full in renunciation of her. She moved a little nearer him, eyes holding his own in solemn questioning. "What did it say--the letter--out there?" She waved her hand toward the pavement. "What I have just told you--that I loved you too much to drag you through--what I will have to bear. I begged you to forgive--and forget--a cur." "Micky,--do you want--to go--alone?" He had to bend his head to catch the whispered words, though the beautiful eyes gazed in divine fearlessness straight into his own, searching his shadowed, storm-swept soul. A breathless moment his brain groped for her meaning, grasped it with incredulous joy. The hot blood pounded in his veins, his eyes implored while fearing her. "Oh, girl, you don't mean--Ah, you don't know what you're saying. No! I'm a dog--a dog--I'm not fit--"