her, if it came between him and the best thing he had yet done in his
work.

He could not face the thought of the parting; but there was no need to
face that as yet. A whole fortnight intervened. It is useless to suffer
a pang until the pang is actually upon you. Besides, every
experience--however hard to bear--is of value. How much more harrowing
and vivid would be his next description of a parting----

Then, suddenly, Ronald felt ashamed. His arms dropped from around her.
He knew himself unworthy--in a momentary flash of self-revelation he
knew himself utterly unworthy--of Helen's generous love, and noble
womanhood.

"My wife," he said, "I won't go. It isn't worth it."

Her arms strained around him, and he heard her sob; and, alas--it was
the sob of the woman in the long grass, when she clung to the man who
had crawled out first. His plot stood out to him once more as the
supreme thing.

"At least," he added, "it wouldn't be worth it, if it costs you so much.
It _is_ my strongest plot, but I will give it up if you would rather I
stayed at home."

Then Helen loosed her detaining arms, and lifting a brave white face,
smiled at him through her tears.

"No, Ronnie," she said. "I promised, when we married, always to help you
with your work and to make it easy. I am not going to fail you now. If