He did not say a word. Matravers continued.

"It will be a great pleasure for me," he said quietly. "What I propose
is to invest a thousand pounds for that purpose in Freddy's name. In
fact, I have taken the liberty of already doing it. The papers are
here."

Matravers laid an envelope on the little table between them. Then he
rose up.

"Will you forgive me now," he said, "if I hurry away? I will come and
see you again, and we will talk this over more thoroughly."

And still John Drage said nothing, but he held out his hand. Matravers
pressed the thin fingers between his own.

"You must see Freddy," he said eagerly. "I promised him that he should
come in before you went."

But Matravers shook his head. There was a pain at his heart like the
cutting of a knife.

"I cannot stay another instant," he declared. "Send Freddy over to my
rooms any time. Let him come and have tea with me!"

Then they parted, and Matravers walked through a world of strange
shadows to Berenice's house. Her maid, recognizing him, took him up
to her room without ceremony. The door was softly opened and shut. He
stood upon the threshold. For a moment everything seemed dark before
him.

CHAPTER XVI

Berenice seemed to dwell always in the twilight. At first Matravers
thought that the room was empty, and he advanced slowly towards the
window. And then he stopped short. Berenice was lying in a crumpled
heap on the low couch, almost within touch of his hands. She was lying
on her side, her supple figure all doubled up, and the folds of her
loose gown flowing around her in wild disorder. Her face was half
hidden in her clasped hands.

"Berenice," he cried softly.

[Illustration: Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low couch]

She did not answer. She was asleep. He stood looking down upon her,
his heart full of an infinite tenderness. She, too, had suffered,
then. Her hair was in wild confusion, and there were marks of recent
tears upon her pale cheeks. A little lace handkerchief had slipped
from her fingers down on to the floor. He picked it up. It was wet!
The glow of the heavily-shaded lamp was upon her clasped white fingers
and her bowed head. He watched the rising and falling of her bosom as
she slept. To him, so great a stranger to women and their ways, there
was a curious fascination in all the trifling details of her toilette
and person, the innate daintiness of which appealed to him with a very
potent and insidiou