Behind his self-containment McCoy was suffering poignantly. He was on his way to say good-bye to the girl wife he loved. It was his conviction that when he emerged from the shadow now closing in upon him Ruth would have passed out of his life. Already she had wearied of what he had to offer. There was no likelihood that she would waste her young years waiting for a man shut up in prison for his misdeeds. Far better for her to cut loose from him as soon as possible. He intended to advise her to sell the ranch, realize what she could in cash from it, and then file an action for divorce. The law would operate to release her almost automatically from a convict husband. Mrs. Matson met him at the back door. She led the way to a living room and stood aside to let him pass in. Then she closed the door behind him, shutting herself out. The parlour was lit only by shafts of moonlight pouring through the windows. Ruth stood beside the mantel. She wore a white dress that had always been a favourite of Rowan’s. Neither of them spoke. He noticed that she was trembling. From out of the darkness where she stood came a strangled little sob. Rowan took the distance between them in two strides. He gathered her into his arms, and she hid her face against his woollen shirt. She wept, clinging to him, one arm tight about his neck. He caressed her hair softly, murmuring the sweetheart words his thoughts had given her through all the days of their separation. Not for many years had he been so near tears himself. Presently the sob convulsions that shook her slight body grew less frequent. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I’ve not been a good wife to you, Rowan,” she whispered at last. “You don’t know how sometimes I’ve—hated you—and distrusted you. I’ve thought all sorts of bad things about you, and some of them aren’t true.” His arms tightened. The wild desire was in him to hold her against the world. “I flirted with Larry Silcott,” she confessed. “I did it to—to punish you. I’ve been horrid. But I loved you all the time. Even while I hated you I loved you.” The blood sang through his veins. “Why did you hate me?” “I—I can’t tell you that. Not yet; some day maybe.” “Was it something I did?” “Y-yes. But I don’t want to talk about that now. They’re going to take you away from me. We’ve only got a few minutes. Oh, Rowan, I don’t see how I’m going to let you go!” His heart overflowed with tenderness and pride. Every one of her broken little endearments filled him with joy. Her dear sweetness was balm to his wounded soul. “Let me tell you this, Ruth. I’m happier to-night than I’ve been for a long time. They can’t separate us if we keep each other in our hearts. I thought I’d lost you. I’ve been through hell because of it, my dear.” “You do—love me,” she murmured. He did not try to tell her in words how much. His reassurance was in the lovers’ language of eyes and lips and the soft touch of hands.