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“I am going to tell you now,” proceeded Cynthia, “just why I asked you to come to me. I suppose you know all about this trouble of mine–that I shall either die very soon, or else have to carry my arm in a sling for the rest of my life. Now that’s where you come in. Would you–would you feel very badly if I died, I wonder?”

He raised his head at that, and she saw his face as she had seen it once long ago–alert, vital, full of the passionate intensity of his love for her.

“You sha’n’t die!” he declared fiercely. “Who says you are going to die?”

Cynthia’s eyes fell before the sudden fire that blazed at her from his. “Unless I consent to be a cripple all my days,” she said, with a curious timidity wholly unlike her usual dainty confidence.

“Of course you will consent,” West said, sweeping down her half-offered resistance with sheer, overmastering strength. “You’ll face this thing like the brave woman you are. Good heavens! As if there were any choice!”

“There is,” Cynthia whispered, looking at him shyly, through lowered lids. “There is a choice. But it rests with you. Mr. West, if you want me to do this thing–if you really want me to, and it’s a big thing to do, even for you–I’ll do it. There! I’ll do it! I’ll go on living like a chopped worm for your sake. But–but–you’ll have to do something for me in return. Now I wonder if you can guess what I’m hinting at?”

West’s face changed. The eagerness went out of it. Something of his habitual grimness of expression returned.

Yet his voice was full of tenderness when he spoke.

“Cynthia,” he said very earnestly, “there is nothing on this earth that I will not do for you. But don’t ask me to be the means of ruining you socially, of depriving you of all your friends, of degrading you to a position that would break your heart.”

A glimmer of amusement flashed across Cynthia’s drawn face.

“Oh!” she said, a little quiver in her voice. “You are funny, you men, dull as moles and blind as bats. My dear, there’s only one person in this little universe who has the power to break my heart, and it isn’t any fault of his that he didn’t do it long ago. No, don’t speak. There’s nothing left for you to say. The petition is dismissed, but not the petitioner; so listen to me instead. I’ve a sentimental fancy to be able to have ‘Mrs. Nat V. West’ written on my tombstone in the event of my demise to-morrow. I want you to make arrangements for the same.”

“Cynthia!”

The word was almost a cry, but she checked it, her fingers on his lips.

“You great big silly!” she murmured, laughing weakly. “Where’s your sense of humour? Can’t you see I’m not going to die? But I’m going to be Mrs. Nat V. West all the same. Now, is that quite understood, I wonder? Because I don’t want to cry any more–I’m tired.”

“You wish to marry me in the morning–before the operation?” West said, speaking almost under his breath.

His face was close to hers. She looked him suddenly straight in the eyes.

“Yes, just that,” she told him softly. “I want–dear–I want to go to sleep, holding my husband’s hand.”

XI

“It’s a clear case of desertion,” declared Cynthia imperturbably, two months later. “But never mind that now, Jack. How do you like my sling? Isn’t it just the cutest thing in creation?”

“You look splendid,” Babbacombe said with warmth, but he surveyed her with slightly raised brows notwithstanding.

She nodded brightly in response.

“No, I’m not worrying any, I assure you. You don’t believe me, I see. So here’s something for you to read that will set your mind at rest.”

Babbacombe read, with a slowly clearing face. The note he held was in his agent’s handwriting.

“I am leaving you to-day, for I feel, now you are well again, that you will find it easier in my absence to consider very carefully your position. Your marriage to me was simply an act of impulse. I gave way in the matter because you were in no state to be thwarted. But if, after consideration, you find that that act was a mistake, dictated by weakness, and heaven knows what besides of generosity and pity, something may yet be done to remedy it. It has never been published, and, if you are content to lead a single life, no one who matters need ever know that it took place. I am returning to my work at Farringdean for the present. I am aware that you may find some difficulty in putting your feelings in this matter into words. If so, I shall understand your silence.