she said to him, "Hart, I want you to do something more for me."
"You have only to tell me," he said.
"Have I only to tell you, Hart?" she asked softly.
"Haven't you learned that yet, Edith?"
"I want you to go away."
"Very well," he said quietly, but his face whitened visibly.
"You say that as if you had been expecting it."
"I have. I knew from the beginning that when this was over you would dislike me for having seen you suffer. I have grown my Gethsemane in a full realization of what was coming, but I could not leave you, Edith, so long as it seemed to me that I was serving you. Does it make any difference to you where I go?"
"I want you where you will be loved, and good care taken of you."
"Thank you!" said Henderson, smiling grimly. "Have you any idea where such a spot might be found?"
"It should be with your sister at Los Angeles. She always has seemed very fond of you."
"That is quite true," said Henderson, his eyes brightening a ittle. "I will go to her. When shall I start?"
"At once."
Henderson began to tack for the landing, but his hands shook until he scarcely could manage the boat. Edith Carr sat watching him indifferently, but her heart was throbbing painfully. "Why is there so much suffering in the world?" she kept whispering to herself. Inside
