She added, uneasily: "I must go back. My train. Don't forget the time."
"Can't you wait for the next?"
"Dear, you know I mustn't. How could I stay? Fate's finished with us now. We've free-will.... Didn't I tell you we weren't bad? All that's why I can't stay."
They began to walk back to the railway-station. A mist-like rain was beginning to fall, and everything was swathed in grey dampness. They talked together like two age-long friends, partners in distress and suffering; he told her, carefully and undramatically, the story of the night before.
She said to him, from the carriage-window just before the 3:18 steamed out: "I shan't see you again for ever such a long while. I wish—I wish I could stay with you and help you. But I can't.... You know why I can't, don't you?"
"Yes, I know why. We must be brave alone. We must learn, if we can, to call ourselves good again."
"Yes.... Yes.... We must start life anew. No more mistakes. And you must grow back again to what you used to be.... The next few months will be terrible—maddening—for both of us. But I can bear them. Do you think you can—without me? If I thought you couldn't"—her voice took on a sudden wild passion—"if I thought you would break down under the strain, if I thought the fight would crush and kill you, I would stay with you from this moment, and never, never leave you alone! I would—I would—if I thought there was no other way!"
He said, calmly and earnestly: "I can fight it, Clare. I shall not break down. Trust me. And then—some day——"
She interrupted him hurriedly. "I am going abroad very soon. I don't know for how long, but for a long while, certainly. And while I am away I shall not write to you, and you must not write to me, either. Then, when I come back ..."
He looked up into her eyes and smiled.