“I swear it is not,” cried Stratton. “You will not believe me even after seeing your letter—which I had forgotten—was unopened.”
“I can’t, Mal. I wish to goodness I could.”
“Never mind. I can say no more.”
“You mean that you will say no more,” said Guest shortly.
“I mean what I said,” replied Stratton.
“Very well. You must take your road; I must take mine.”
Stratton was silent, and Guest turned short round on his heel, took a couple of steps away, but turned back.
“Mal, old chap, you make me wild,” he cried, holding out his hand. “I know it’s hard to bear—I know how you loved her, but sacrifice self for your honour’s sake; be a man, and come away. There, I’ll walk with you to the post town. You’ll come?”
“I cannot yet.”
“Why?”