t
remember that if you give way so that people notice you, then the show's
up. They'll be asking questions--they'll watch you--and you'll have
done for me. Otherwise there's no risk whatever--no risk whatever. Just
remember that--it's as though I'd never done anything; everything's
going on in its usual way; life will always be just the same . . . if
you'll keep hold of yourself--do you understand? Do you hear me?"

Bunning's quavering voice answered him, "I'll try."

"Well, look here. Think of it quite calmly, naturally. You're taking
it like a story that you'd read in a magazine or a play you'd seen at a
theatre--melodrama with all the lights on and every one screaming. Well,
it can be like that if you want it. Every one thinks of murder that way
and you can go shrieking to the Dean and have the rope round my neck in
a minute. But I want you to think of it as the most ordinary thing
in the world. Remember no one knows but yourself, and they won't know
either if you behave in a natural sort of way." Then suddenly his voice
sank to a growl and he caught the man's hands in his and held the whole
quivering body in his control--"Quiet!" he muttered, "Quiet!"

Bunning had begun to laugh--quite helplessly, almost noiselessly--only
his fat cheeks were quivering and his mouth foolishly, weakly smiling:
his eyes seemed to be disconnected from his body and to be protesting
against it. They looked out like a prisoner from behind barred windows.
The body began to shake from head to foot-ripples of noiseless laughter
shook his fat limbs, then suddenly he began . . . peal upon peal. . .
the tears came rolling down, the mouth was loosely trembling, and still
only the eyes, in a kind of sad, stupid wonder, protested.

Olva seized his throat-"Stop it, you damned fool!" . . . He looked
straight into the eyes--Bunning ceased as suddenly as he had begun. The
horrible, helpless noise fell with a giggle into silence; he collapsed
into a chair and hid his face in his hands.

There was a long pause. Olva gazed at the bending figure, summoning all
his will power to hold the shaking thing in control. He waited. Then,
softly, he began again. "Bunning, I did you a great wrong when I told
you--you're not up to it."

From behind the hands there came a muffled voice--"I _am_ up to it."

"This sort of thing makes it impossible."

"It shall never happen again." Bunning lifted his tear-stained face.
"It's been coming for days. I've been so drea