"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here—and how to thank you I fail to be able to say."
"But why," she urged, "why do you go?"
"Oh—I want—I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The war gave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in my Master's service. But now, the war is at an end—"
"Thank God! But all you ask—and more—Mark, except danger, are here—and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we miss too these children. Think of it—don't make up your mind until James talks to you—"
"No, I go to-morrow."
"But it does seem to me, Mark, that you are making a serious change without sufficient consideration of what you lose and we lose."
"Yes, yes," he returned, "I know—but to remain is for me impossible."
"But why?"
He was silent a moment, looking at this dear friend with the over-filled eyes of a troubled and yet resolute manhood. Then he said, "I did not mean to tell you why in my weakness flight alone will save me from what has been to me unbearable here and ever will be."
"Can I in any way help you?"