The words kept ringing in her ears. Again: "And
he sits there like a ghost all shrivelled up for want of sleep, and
his eyes like a lime-kiln burning.... He hasn't had sleep for a
fortnight.... He's killing himself for others."

Her own eyes were shining with a dry, hot light, her lips were
quivering, but her hands upon the letter were steady and firm. What
could she do?

She went to a table, picked up the papers, and scanned them hurriedly.
Not a word about Egypt. She thought for a moment, then left the
drawing-room. Passing up a flight of stairs to her husband's study, she
knocked and entered. It was empty; but Eglington was in the house, for a
red despatch-box lay open on his table. Instinctively she glanced at the
papers exposed in the box, and at the letters beside it. The document
on the top of the pile in the box related to Cyprus--the name caught her
eye. Another document was half-exposed beneath it. Her hand went to her
heart. She saw the words, "Soudan" and "Claridge Pasha." She reached for
it, then drew back her hand, and her eyes closed as though to shut it
out from her sight. Why should she not see it? They were her husband's
papers, husband and wife were one. Husband and wife one! She shrank
back. Were they one? An overmastering desire was on her. It seemed
terrible to wait, when here before her was news of David, of life or
death. Suddenly she put out her hand and drew the Cyprus paper over the
Egyptian document, so that she might not see it.

As she did so the door opened on her, and Eglington entered. He had seen
the swift motion of her hand, and again a look peculiar to him crossed
his face, enigmatical, cynical, not pleasant to see.

She turned on him slowly, and he was aware of her inward distress to
some degree, though her face was ruled to quietness.

He nodded at her and smiled. She shrank, for she saw in his nod and his
smile that suggestion of knowing all about everything and everybody, and
thinking the worst, which had chilled her so often. Even in their short
married life it had chilled those confidences which she would gladly
have poured out before him, if he had been a man with an open soul. Had
there been joined to his intellect and temperament a heart capable of
true convictions and abiding love, what a man he might have been!
But his intellect was superficial, and his temperament was dangerous,
because there were not the experiences of a soul of truth to give the
deeper hold upon th