“It may be all right,” she admitted. “I don’t say that it isn’t. But until it is cleared up beyond a doubt, don’t you think, Darcy, you ought to come and stay with us?” “I think not,” put in Darcy’s escort quietly. “I’m taking Miss Cole back to the Farm. If you’ve nothing further to add—” “Nothing—now,” answered the baffled Mrs. Lee. “Then we’ll bid you good-day.” Safely around the curve they stopped and faced each other. “You wonderful person!” giggled Darcy hysterically. “How did you ever think of it!” Assuming a grandiose pose he declaimed: You may break, you may shatter, the Veyze if you will, But the scent of the Montrose will cling to it still. “To get down to prose, how long will it cling?” she asked thoughtfully. “Allowing for inevitable official red tape, I should say anywhere from twenty-four hours to a month.” “Paul Wood has a cousin in the State Department.” “In that case, nearer the twenty-four hours than the month.” Darcy seated herself on a boulder and took her chin into her cupped hands. “Let me think,” she murmured. Remsen watched her as she considered and would have given much to be able to read her mind. Presently she looked up. “Do you mind leaving me here?” she inquired. “Yes,” he said. “Why?” “I always mind leaving you. It gives me a lost feeling.” She nodded. “Yes; I know what you mean. I feel it, too.” “Do you?” he cried eagerly. “You’ve been so wonderfully good to me all through this queer mess,” she supplemented, a little hurriedly. He disregarded this. “Besides,” he said, “I’m afraid this is going to be our last walk.” She looked her startled question. “What I’d like, of course,” he pursued, “is to stay here and face it through with you. But that’s going to be worse for you than if I went, isn’t it?” “I’m afraid it is.” “Then it’s up to me to leave.” “But what if they find you and take you back to New York?” “I’ve got to take the risk. They’re pretty likely to find out about me here if they undertake a _Veyze_ investigation.” “That’s true,” she cried. “I’ve made this place impossible for you as a refuge.” “Not you. I did it myself. I’d do it again—a thousand times—for these last four days.” “When would you go?” “To-night. Eleven o’clock. Meredith.” “Wait till to-morrow.” His heart leaped. “We’re to have this evening together?” “No,” she said gently. “I want this evening to myself. I have to think.” “I’m a marvelous stimulus to thought,” he pleaded. She shook an obstinate head. “Might I walk back to the Farm with you?” “No; please. I’d rather you didn’t.” She rose and laid her hand in his. “You’ve been a very parfait, gentil knight,” she said. “Darcy!” But she was already swinging up the hill with that free, lithe, rhythmic pace of hers. At the summit she turned and waved. For one brief second he saw her sweet, flushed profile clear against the sweet, flushed sky. It disappeared leaving earth and heaven dim and void.