“Lived!” almost shouted Ainsley.  “Do you call that living?  What was I before I met you?  I was an ignorant beast of the field.  I knew as much about living as one of the cows on my farm.  I could sleep twelve hours at a stretch, or, if I was in New York, I never slept.  I was a Day and Night Bank of health and happiness, a great, big, useless puppy.  And now I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think—­except of you.  I dream about you all night, think about you all day, go through the woods calling your name, cutting your initials in tree trunks, doing all the fool things a man does when he’s in love, and I am the most miserable man in the world—­and the happiest!”

He finally succeeded in making Miss Kirkland so miserable also that she decided to run away.  Friends had planned to spend the early spring on the Nile and were eager that she should accompany them.  To her the separation seemed to offer an excellent method of discovering whether or not Ainsley was the man she could not “live without.”

Ainsley saw in it only an act of torture, devised with devilish cruelty.

“What will happen to me,” he announced firmly, “is that I will plain die!  As long as I can see you, as long as I have the chance to try and make you understand that no one can possibly love you as I do, and as long as I know I am worrying you to death, and no one else is, I still hope.  I’ve no right to hope, still I do.  And that one little chance keeps me alive.  But Egypt!  If you escape to Egypt, what hold will I have on you?  You might as well be in the moon.  Can you imagine me writing love-letters to a woman in the moon?  Can I send American Beauty roses to the ruins of Karnak?  Here I can telephone you; not that I ever have anything to say that you want to hear, but because I want to listen to your voice, and to have you ask, ‘Oh! is that you?’ as though you were glad it was me.  But Egypt!  Can I call up Egypt on the long-distance?  If you leave me now, you’ll leave me forever, for I’ll drown myself in Lone Lake.”

The day she sailed away he went to the steamer, and, separating her from her friends and family, drew her to the side of the ship farther from the wharf, and which for the moment, was deserted.  Directly below a pile-driver, with rattling of chains and shrieks from her donkey-engine, was smashing great logs; on the deck above, the ship’s band was braying forth fictitious gayety, and from every side they were assailed by the raucous whistles of ferry-boats.  The surroundings were not conducive to sentiment, but for the first time Polly Kirkland seemed a little uncertain, a little frightened; almost on the verge of tears, almost persuaded to surrender.  For the first time she laid her hand on Ainsley’s arm, and the shock sent the blood to his heart and held him breathless.  When the girl looked at him there was something in her eyes that neither he nor any other man had ever seen there.