was shawled and hooded, carrying a traveling-bag in her hand.

"I am going, Clarence," she said, pausing before him, with gentle
gravity, "but not in anger. I even ask you to forgive me for the foolish
words that I think your still more foolish accusation"--she smiled
faintly--"dragged from me. I am going because I know that I have
brought--and that while I am here I shall always be bringing--upon you
the imputation and even the responsibility of my own faith! While I am
proud to own it,--and if needs be suffer for it,--I have no right to
ruin your prospects, or even make you the victim of the slurs that
others may cast upon me. Let us part as friends--separated only by our
different political faiths, but keeping all other faiths together--until
God shall settle the right of this struggle. Perhaps it may be soon--I
sometimes think it may be years of agony for all; but until then,
good-by."

She had slowly descended the steps to the patio, looking handsomer than
he had ever seen her, and as if sustained and upheld by the enthusiasm
of her cause. Her hand was outstretched towards his--his heart beat
violently--in another moment he might have forgotten all and clasped her
to his breast. Suddenly she stopped, her outstretched arm stiffened, her
finger pointed to the chair on which Susy's cloak was hanging.

"What's that?" she said in a sharp, high, metallic voice. "Who is here?
Speak!"

"Susy," said Clarence.

She cast a scathing glance round the patio, and then settled her
piercing eyes on Clarence with a bitter smile.