"No; you do not know; you cannot know," he whispered hoarsely. "Myra, there is a gulf between us that can never more be crossed. Go, dearest, for Heaven's sake, and try and forget that I ever said words of love." She looked at him in wonder more than dread, but the prime object of her mission came now to mind. "No," she said; "your mind is disordered with grief. I cannot leave you like this. Tell me, I beg, Malcolm: you do repel me because of my past?" "No--no!" he said wildly. "For that? Great Heavens, no!" "Then you must--you shall tell me." "Tell you?" he cried. "Yes: what you have kept back from your firmest friend. It must be some terrible trouble--some great agony of spirit--that should induce you to raise your hand against your own life." "They told you that!" he said bitterly. "Yes: they were obliged. But the reason, dear? Did you not tell me I should share your very being--that I should be your other self? Malcolm, tell me. I claim it as my right. Why are you like this?" He caught her hands fiercely, and held her at arm's length. "Tell you?" he said; "that you may loathe as well as hate. Myra, in the horror of the long black nights since I saw you last I have clung to the hope that, some time in the future, repentance, sorrow for what was thrust upon me, might be sufficient penance for the past; but it is all one black cloud of despair before me. There is no hope. You and I must never meet again. Go, while I can speak to you the words of a sane man, before that which they have thought of me becomes true. For Heaven's sake, go. God have mercy; my punishment is greater than I can bear." He reeled, and would have fallen heavily, but Myra held on to the hands which clutched hers so fiercely; and, as a wild appeal for help escaped her lips, she saved him from striking his head violently as he sank insensible to the floor. "What is it?" cried Guest excitedly. She told him in a few words, and he ran into the other room for water, but Stratton was already coming to, and after drinking with avidity from the glass Guest held to his lips, he rose shuddering and pale. "Take her home," he said in a husky whisper as he rose. "Quick. It is too horrible. Weak and faint, I cannot bear it." He motioned toward the door, and Guest turned a look full of perplexity toward Myra. "No," she said firmly. "Edie, dear, stay with me. Mr Guest, go to my father at once and tell him I am here with him who is to be my dear husband, who is sick almost unto death. Tell him to come at once with a doctor and a nurse." As she spoke a look of joy shot across Stratton's face, and he took a step toward her with outstretched hands, where she stood between him and the door beside the fireplace. Then, all at once, his face changed, and they thought him mad. "No," he cried fiercely; "it is impossible." He ran across, and flung open both inner and outer doors.