a man. Out with it. I am here, and I know the
truth."

For the first time some definite sound came from his lips.

"Beatrice!" he gasped.

"Ah!" she mocked. "You can remember my name, then? Douglas, I knew that
you were a bad man. I knew that when you told me how you meant to cheat
your creditors, how you meant to escape over here on the pretext of
business, and bring all the money you could scrape together. I knew that,
and yet I was willing to come with you, and I should have come. But there
was one thing I didn't reckon upon. I didn't know that you had the heart
or the courage to be a murderer!"

The little cry that broke from his lips was stifled even before it was
uttered.

"I shall never forgive you!" she sobbed. "I never want to touch your
bloodstained fingers! I have forgotten that I ever loved you. You're
horrible--do you hear?--horrible! And yet, I don't mean to be left to
starve. That's why I've followed you. You're afraid I am going to give
you up to justice? Well, I don't know. It depends.... Turn on the lights.
I want to see you. Do you hear? I want to see how you can face me. I want
to see how the memory of that afternoon has dealt with you. Do as I tell
you. Don't stand there glowering at me."

He crossed the room with stumbling footsteps.

"You've learnt to stoop, anyhow," she went on. "You're thinner,
too.... My God!"

The room was suddenly flooded with light. Philip, rigid and ghastly, was
looking at her from the other side of the table. She held up her hands as
though to shut out the sight of him.

"Philip!" she shrieked. "Philip!... Oh, my God!"

Her eyes were lit with horror as she swayed upon her feet. For a moment
she seemed about to collapse. Then she groped her way towards the door
and stood there, clinging to the handle. Slowly she looked around over
her shoulder, her face as white as death. She moistened her lips with her
tongue, her eyes glared at him. Behind, her brain seemed to be working.
Her first spasm of inarticulate fear passed.

"Philip---alive!" she muttered. "Alive!... Speak! Can't you speak to me?
Are you a ghost?"

"Of course not," he answered, with a calm which surprised him. "You can't
have forgotten in less than six months what I look like."

A new expression struggled into her face. She abandoned her grasp of the
handle and came back to her former position.

"Look here," she faltered, "if you are Philip Romilly, where's
he--Douglas?... Where's Douglas?"