"And you go to-morrow?"
"I go to-morrow."
"Without forgiving me?" He leaned very near.
There was a palpitating silence, a silence that searched their souls, and sharply then Myra cried out:
"Oh, Joe! Joe! This is killing me!"
"Myra!" he cried.
He drew her close, very close, stroking her cheek, and the tears ran over his fingers.
"Oh, don't you see," he went on, brokenly, "I can't ask you to come with me? And yet I must go?"
"I don't know," she sobbed. "I must go away and rest … and think … and try to understand…."
"And may I write to you?…"