He stopped pacing the floor and looked at her, suddenly realizing how ill she had been, and contrite and self-accusing he fell on his knees at her feet and put his arms around her.
"Camilla! I shouldn't have let you tell me all this to-night. You were not strong enough. I've been brutal to you—to forget what you were suffering. You must sleep. My heart has been aching for you all these long months. I'll take care of you and make you strong and well again. You're not going back to Abilene, Camilla."
Slowly she disengaged her hands.
"You must go now, Jeff. I—I am tired. But all I need is rest. I couldn't have slept until I told you. It has preyed on me like a poison. I can't influence you, though. You must use your own judgment as to what you'll do, but I pray you'll do nothing rash."
"You must not go back to Abilene. There's much to be explained, Camilla—you must promise not to go away! I want to speak to you about Rita Cheyne."
She rose from her seat on the bed with a kind of wistful dignity.
"I can't promise anything, Jeff. Go, please. I want to be alone."
He looked at her a moment, pleading, and then turned without a word and went out. She heard his heavy steps go down the noisy hall, heard them again on the porch below and on the boardwalk through the village until they were engulfed in the gloom of the night—Jeff's night of anguish, battle, and temptation.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE INTRUDER