either. She will understand, and, even alone, far, far from _her_ love,
she will be true, as I will be. That is what it means to us!" Then she
paused and smiled at Travers as across a widening chasm.

"I--am going now!"

"Going? My beloved--going--where?"

"To Margaret."

"You--dare not! You shall not! You are--mad!"

"No. I am--going, because, as things are, I cannot--trust you, even you!
That is our penalty for the world's wrong. Long, long ago some one--oh!
it was back in the days when I did not know what life meant--some one
told me--never to let any one kill my ideal! No one ever has! It goes on
before, leading and beckoning. I must follow. I do not know where he is,
he who told me, but I know, as sure as I know that I shall always love
you, that he is following _his_ ideal, and living true and sure. Good
night."

Unable to think or act, Travers saw Priscilla take up her still damp coat
and hat. Like a man in a nightmare he saw her turn a deadly white face
upon him, and then the door closed and he was alone in her little room!

He looked about, dazed and emotionless. He felt _her_ in every touch
of the lonely place; her books, her little pictures, herself! Some women
are like that: they leave themselves in the presence of them they
love--forever!