not like that with you," she said quickly.

He threw his arms up into the air with a sudden wild gesture of absolute
despair. She had touched a chord in his nature too roughly, and it had
not stood the strain. For a moment he had thrown off his mask. His white
face was ghastly, and his eyes were burning with a hopeless passion.

"My God! No!" he cried. "I am in the depths of hell, with never a gleam
of hope to lead me on. And the sin--the sin----"

He stopped suddenly, and his hands fell to his side. Slowly he turned
round and looked at her, half doubtfully, half fearfully. What had he
said? What had she heard? What did that look in her face mean--that look
of anguish, of fear, of horror? Why did she not speak, even though it
were to accuse him? Anything rather than that awful silence.

Twice she moved her white lips, but no sound came. The power of
articulation seemed gone. Then she caught him by the arm, and turned him
slowly round so that he faced his cottage. Only a few yards below them
was the spot where she and her sister-in-law that was to have been had
lolled in their low chairs by the luncheon-table, and had begun to feel
impatient for the coming of one who had never come. Further away still,
across the moor, was that dark circular patch of plantation behind which
Sir Geoffrey Kynaston had been found, and away upon the cliffs
overlooking the scene of the murder was Falcon's Nest.

The grasp on his arm tightened. Then she stretched out her other hand,
and with shaking fingers pointed downwards--pointed to the very spot
where the deed had been done. The memory of it all came back to her, and
hardened her set white face. She looked him straight in the eyes without
a quiver, and clenched her teeth.

"Did you--do that?" she asked in a firm, hard tone.

A curious mind slumber seemed to have crept over him. His eyes followed
her outstretched hand, and his lips idly repeated her words.

"Did you kill Sir Geoffrey Kynaston?"

Her words fell sharp and clear upon the still air. A tremor passed
through his whole frame, and the light of a sudden understanding flashed
across his face. He was his old self again, and more than his old self.

"You are joking, of course, Miss Thurwell?" he said quietly. "You do not
mean that seriously?"

She caught her breath, and looked at him. After all, it is only a step
from tragedy to commonplace. He was deathly pale, but calm and composed.
He had conquered himself just in time.