"I shall have to take the first train in the morning, and--and--"

"Oh!" The simple ejaculation was so full of pain that it checked his
tardy subterfuge. He rose to take her in his arms to soothe her, to
pledge himself to her forever, but he only stood leaning against the
window-frame, the puppet of a thousand warring forces. No, he would
not touch her, he told himself; she was to be his wife--she was the
sweetest, purest human flower that ever bloomed, and until he was
freer from the grime of his past he would not insult her by further
intimacy. So far he had not spoken to her of marriage, and he would
not do so till he had a better right.

"So you really are going?" She had turned pale, and her voice shook as
she stared up at him, helplessly.

"Yes, but I am coming back just as soon as I possibly can," he said.
"Besides, I shall write you, if--if you will let me?"

"Why should you say _if_ I will let you? Don't you know--can't you
see? Oh, _can't_ you see?"

Again the yearning to clasp her in his arms rose to the surface of his
inner depths, and he might have given way to it but for the panorama
of accusing pictures which was blazing in his brain.

"I wish you would try--try to understand _one_ thing, Dolly," he said,
pitying himself as much as her. "I have meant everything I have said
to you. The little that is good in me loves you with all its force,
but I do not want you to--to even trust me--to even count on me--till
I have straightened out my affairs in Atlanta. Then--then if all goes