"But you were there!" The words seemed suddenly to burst from her
without her own volition.

He drew back sharply, as if he had been struck. But he kept his eyes
upon hers. "I can't explain anything," he said. "I am not here to
explain. I only came to see if your love was great enough to make you
believe in me--in spite of all there seems to be against me. Is it,
Stella? Is it?"

His words seemed to go through her, tearing a way to her heart; the
agony was more than she could bear. She uttered an anguished cry, and
wrenched herself from him. "It isn't a question of love!" she said. "You
know it isn't a question of love! I never wanted to love you. I never
wholly trusted you. But you forced my love--though you couldn't compel
my trust. And now that I know--now that I know--" her voice broke as if
the torture were too great for her; she flung out her hands with a
gesture of driving him from her--"oh, it is hell on earth--hell on
earth!"

He drew back for a second before her, his face deathly white. And then
suddenly an awful light leapt in his eyes. He gripped her outflung
hands. The fire had kindled to a flame and the torture was too much for
him also.

"Then you shall love me--even in hell!" he said, through his clenched
teeth, and locked her in the iron circle of his arms.

She did not resist him. She was very near the end of her strength. Only,
as he held her, her eyes met his, mutely imploring him....

It reached him even in his madness, that unspoken appeal. It checked him
in the mid-furnace of his passion. His hold relaxed as if at a word of
command. He put her into a chair and turned himself from her.

The next moment he was fumbling desperately at the window fastening. The
night met him on the threshold. He heard her weeping, piteously,
hopelessly, as he went away.

CHAPTER X

THE DESERT PLACE

A single light shone across the verandah when Bernard Monck returned
late in the night. It drew his steps though it did not come from any of
the sitting-rooms. With the light tread often characteristic of heavy
men, he approached it, realizing only at the last moment that it came
from the window of his brother's room.

Then for a second he hesitated. He was angry with Everard, more angry
than he could remember that he had ever been before. He questioned with
himself as to the wisdom of seeing him again that night. He doubted if
he could be ordinarily civil to him at present, and a quarrel would help