man, she wondered, which
had so suddenly broken him down? He had only to hold on his way and he
would be Prime Minister in a year. And at the moment of trial he had
crumpled up like a piece of false metal. A wave of false sentiment, a
maniacal hyper-conscientiousness, had been sufficient to sap the very
strength from his bones. And then--there was this other woman. Was she to
let him go without an effort? He might recover his sanity. It was perhaps
a mere nervous breakdown, which had made him the prey of strange fancies.
She spoke to him differently. She spoke once more as the woman who loved
him.

"Lawrence," she said, "you are telling me too much, and not enough. If
you want to send me away I must go. But tell me this first. What claim
has this woman upon you?"

"It is not my secret," he groaned. "I cannot tell you."

"Leslie Borrowdean knows it," she said. "I could have heard it, but I
refused to listen. Remember, whatever you may owe to other people you owe
me something, too."

"It is true," he answered. "Well, listen. I killed her husband!"

"You! You--killed her husband!" she repeated vaguely.

"Yes! She shielded me. There was an inquest, and they found that he had
heart disease. No one knew that I had even seen him that day, no one save
she and a servant, who is dead. But the truth lives. He had reason to be
angry with me--over a money affair. He came home furious, and found me
alone with his wife. He called me--well, it was a lie--and he struck me.
I threw him on one side--and he fell. When we picked him up he was dead."

"It was terrible!" she said, "but you should have braved it out. They
could have done very little to you."

"I know it," he answered. "But I was young, and my career was just
beginning. The thing stunned me. She insisted upon secrecy. It would
reflect upon her, she thought, if the truth came out, so I acquiesced,
I left the house unseen. All these days I have had to carry the burden of
this thing with me. To-day--seemed to be the climax. For the first time I
understood."

"She can never marry you," Berenice said. "It would be horrible."

"She refused to marry me to-day," he answered, "but she laid her life
bare, and I cannot marry any one else."

Berenice was trembling. She was no longer ashamed to show her agitation.

"I am very sorry for you, Lawrence," she said. "I am very sorry for
myself. Good-bye!"

She left him, and Mannering sank back upon the seat.

CHAPTER XI