en on the wrong
side of everything that's decent and straight all her days. She married
that poor creature for his money, and set herself deliberately to drive
him off his head. Last night's tragedy was her doing, not his, though
he, poor devil, will have to end his days in an asylum, and the lady
will have his money to make herself more beautiful than ever with. Now I
am going to let you behind the scenes, my young friend."

Then Tavernake rose to his feet. In the shabby little room he seemed to
have grown suddenly taller. He struck the crazy table with his clenched
fist so that the crockery upon it rattled. Pritchard was used to seeing
men--strong men, too--moved by various passions, but in Tavernake's face
he seemed to see new things.

"Pritchard," Tavernake exclaimed, "I don't want to hear another word!"

Pritchard smiled.

"Look here," he said, "what I am going to tell you is the truth. What
I am going to tell you I'd as soon say in the presence of the lady as
here."

Tavernake took a step forward and Pritchard suddenly realized the man
who had thrown himself through that little opening in the wall, one
against three, without a thought of danger.

"If you say a single word more against her," Tavernake shouted hoarsely,
"I shall throw you out of the room!"

Pritchard stared at him. There was something amazing about this young
man's attitude, something which he could not wholly grasp. He could see,
too, that Tavernake's words were so few simply because he was trembling
under the influence of an immense passion.

"If you won't listen," Pritchard declared, slowly, "I can't talk.
Still, you've got common sense, I take it. You've the ordinary powers
of judging between right and wrong, and knowing when a man or a woman's
honest. I want to save you--"

"Silence!" Tavernake exclaimed. "Look here, Pritchard," he went on,
breathing a little more naturally now, "you came here meaning to do the
right thing--I know that. You're all right, only you don't understand.
You don't understand the sort of person I am. I am twenty-four years
old, I have worked for my own living up here in London since I was
twelve. I was a man, so far as work and independence went, at fifteen.
Since then I have had my shoulder to the wheel; I have lived on nothing;
I have made a little money where it didn't seem possible. I have worried
my way into posts which it seemed that no one could think of giving
me, but all the time I have lived in a l