"There is just one thing left," he cried excitedly as he hurried
upstairs with the news. "We must both disappear this time."

Constance took it very calmly. "But we must not go together," she
added quickly, her fertile mind, as ever, hitting directly on a plan
of action. "If we separate, they will be less likely to trace us,
for they will never think we would do that."

It was evident that the words were being forced out by the conflict
of common sense and deep emotion. "Perhaps it will be best for you
to stick to your original idea of going west. I shall go to one of
the winter resorts. We shall communicate only through the personal
column of the Star. Sign yourself Weston. I shall sign Easton."

The words fell on Carlton with his new and deeper love for her like
a death sentence. It had never entered his mind that they were to be
separated now. Dissolve their partnership in crime? To him it seemed
as if they had just begun to live since that night when they had at
last understood each other. And it had come to this--separation.

"A man can always shift for himself better if he has no
impediments," she said, speaking rapidly as if to bolster up her own
resolution. "A woman is always an impediment in a crisis like this."

In her face he saw what he had never seen before. There was love in
it that would sacrifice everything. She was sending him away from
her, not to save herself but to save him. Vainly he attempted to
protest. She placed her finger on his lips. Never before had he felt
such over-powering love for her. And yet she held him in check in
spite of himself.