there was in his tone a subtle
difference, his words came with absolute composure. She could almost have
imagined that he was smiling.

"Since you refuse to be open with me," he said, "you compel me to draw my
own conclusions. Now, with regard to this letter which you received a
week ago from Captain Rodolphe--you have another letter from him
somewhere in your possession?"

He took the missive from his pocket and opened it as if he would read it
again. But the sight was too much for Chris. It tortured her beyond
endurance, galvanizing her into sudden, unconsidered action. She snatched
it from him and tore it passionately into fragments.

"You shall not!" she cried. "You shall not!"

With the words she sprang to her feet, and stood before him, goaded to
frenzy, challenging his calm.

"Where did you find it?" she demanded.

"It was found on the terrace," he said.

She flung out a trembling hand. "Ah! Then I dropped it that night that my
dress caught fire. I thought it was burnt. And you found it--you dared to
read it!"

He did not attempt to explain his action. Perhaps he realized he
was more likely to obtain the truth from her thus than by endless
cross-questioning. "Yes, I have read it," he said.

She made a desperate gesture. "And because of this--because of
this--you--you accuse me of--"

"I have accused you of nothing," he said sternly. "I have only asked you
to tell me the truth. I hoped you would do so of your own free will, but
since you will not--"

"Yes?" she cried back. "Since I will not--?"

"I shall find another means," he answered.

He rose abruptly. They stood face to face. There was no shrinking about
Chris now. She was braced to defiance.

"Where is that other letter?" he said.

"I have destroyed it."

She uttered the words with quivering triumph, strung to a fever-pitch of
excitement in which fear had no part.

His eyes went to her jewel-drawer.

"It is not there," she said. "The letter I hid there was the one you have
just read."

She spoke rapidly, but she was no longer incoherent. Her words came
without effort, and he knew that she was telling the truth as the victim
in a torture-chamber might tell it, because she was goaded thereto and
incapable at the moment of doing otherwise. He also knew that,
notwithstanding this, she was scarcely aware of what she said. Out of the
agony of her soul, because the pain was unbearable, she had yielded
without knowing it.

"I only kept t