"I wish you wouldn't go away, Nevill," she said.
"It's all right, I'll be back in a day or two." He blushed at his own lie.
Mrs. Nevill Tyson sat down on the bed and began to cry.
"What's the matter, Moll, eh?"
"I don't know, I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm afraid, Nevill—I'm so terribly afraid."
"Why, what are you afraid of?" He looked up and was touched by the terror in her face.
"I don't know. But I can bear it—I won't be silly and frightened—I can bear it if you'll only stay."
She slid on to her knees beside him; and while she implored him to stay, her hands worked unconsciously, helping him to go—smoothing and folding his clothes, and laying them in little heaps about the floor, her figure swaying unsteadily as she knelt.
He put his arm round her; he drew her head against his shoulder; and she looked up into his face, trying to smile.
"You won't leave me?" she whispered hoarsely.