She burst into tears—the most terrible tears that he had ever seen. Throwing herself into the colonel's chair, she lay huddled there, her face pressed into the arm, her slender figure shaken by the explosive force of her grief.
To his broken words and appeals she made no answer. He doubted whether she heard him. The storm of feeling, stronger than he had ever supposed her capable of, swayed her as a blast sways a sapling. Finally he bent over her and rested his cheek on her hair, whispering:
"I want to do everything you ask me. But before I go, say you forgive me."
She raised herself and pushed him away. Her face was almost unrecognizable, blurred and swollen with tears.
"Go—go!" she cried. "That is all I want of you. You've done enough harm to me. Do what I ask now."
He attempted to bend over her and say some last words of farewell, but she turned her face away from him and pressed it into the upholstered arm of the chair. He kissed her hair, and stood for a moment looking at her, then turned and crossed the room. At the door he stopped and looked back.
"Good-by," he said hesitatingly.
A smothered good-by came from her. He waited, hoping for some word of forgiveness
