Even Nan hardly realised the effort his restraint was costing him.
"What--what do you mean, Peter ?" she asked haltingly.
"I mean that I'm going away--that I mustn't see you any more." A cry fled from her lips--denying, supplicating, and at the desolate sound of it a tremor ran through his limbs.

It was as though his body fought and struggled against the compelling spirit within it.
"We mustn't meet again," he went on steadily.
"Not meet--ever--do you mean ?" There was something piteous in the young, shaken voice.
"Never, if we can help it.

We must go separate ways, Nan." She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly.

Only her eyes, meeting his, held a mute agony that tortured him.

All at once his self-control gave way, and the passion of love and longing against which he had been fighting swept aside the barriers which circumstance had placed about it.