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"I'd love to," she said, "--to be able to write to you, hear from you
every day. But I don't believe you want to know. I think it would be too
hard for you. Because you'd have to promise not to try to get me
back--not to come and rescue me if I got into trouble and things went
badly and I didn't know where to turn. Could you promise that, Roddy?"
He gave a groan and buried his face in his hands. Then:
"No," he said furiously. "Of course I couldn't. See you suffering and
stand by with my hands in my pockets and watch!" He sprang up and seized
her by the arms in a grip that actually left bruises, and fairly shook
her in the agony of his entreaty. "Tell me it's a nightmare, Rose," he
said. "Tell me it isn't true. Wake me up out of it!"
But under the indomitable resolution of her blue eyes, he turned away.
This was the last appeal of that sort that he made.
"I'll promise," she said presently, "to be sensible--not to take any
risks I don't have to take. I'll regard my life and my health and all,
as something I'm keeping in trust for you.


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