"Love works strange havoc with human lives sometimes," Mr. Britton remarked, reflectively, as Darrell paused.
"I was tempted at times," Darrell continued, "as I thought of what was in store for her, to rescue her at any cost; tempted to take her and go with her to the ends of the earth, if necessary; anywhere, to save her from the life she dreads."
"Thank God that you did not, my son!" Mr. Britton exclaimed, strangely agitated by Darrell's words; "you do not know what the cost might have been in the end; what bitter remorse, what agony of ceaseless regret!"
He stopped abruptly, and again Darrell felt that he had looked for an instant into those depths so sacredly guarded from the eyes of the world.
"You did well to leave as you did," Mr. Britton said, after a moment's silence, in which he had regained his composure.
"I had to; I should have done something desperate if I had remained there much longer."
Darrell spoke quietly, but it was the quiet of suppressed passion.
"It was better so—better for you both," Mr. Britton continued; "when we find ourselves powerless to save our loved ones from impending trouble, all that is left us is to help them bear that trouble as best we may. The best help you can give Kate now is to take yourself as completely as possible out of her life. How you can best help her later time alone will show."
A long silence followed, while both watched the flickering flames and listened to the crooning of the wind outside. When at length they spoke it was on topics of general interest; the outlook at the mining camp,
the latest news in the town below, till their talk at last drifted to the recent hold-up.