but Jasmine stepped
inside, with Almah's fingers clutching her sleeve. For a moment nothing
was visible; then, Jasmine saw, dimly, a coffin on two chairs.

"That was the first man I ever loved--my husband," Al'mah said quietly,
pointing at the coffin. "There was another, but you took him from
me--you and others."

Jasmine gave a little cry which she smothered with her hand; and she
drew back involuntarily towards the light of the hallway. The smell of
disinfectants almost suffocated her. A cloud of mystery and indefinable
horror seemed to envelop her; then a light flooded through her brain.
It was like a stream of fire. But with a voice strangely calm, she
said, "You mean Adrian Fellowes?"

Al'mah's face was in the shadow, but her voice was full of storm. "You
took him from me, but you were only one," she said sharply and
painfully. "I found it out at last. I suspected first at Glencader.
Then at last I knew. It was an angry, contemptuous letter from you. I
had opened it. I understood. When everything was clear, when there was
no doubt, when I knew he had tried to hurt little Jigger's sister, when
he had made up his mind to go abroad, then, I killed him. Then--I
killed him."

Jasmine's cheek was white as Al'mah's apron; but she did not shrink.
She came a step nearer, and peered into Al'mah's face, as though to
read her inmost mind, as though to see if what she said was really
true. She saw not a quiver of agitation, not the faintest horror of
memory; only the reflective look of accomplished purpose.

"You--are you insane?" Jasmine exclaimed in a whisper. "Do you know
what you have said?"

Al'mah smoothed her apron softly. "Perfectly. I do not think I am
insane. I seem not to be. One cannot do insane things here. This is the
place of the iron rule. Here we cure madness--the madness of war and
other madnesses."

"You had loved him, yet you killed him!"

"You would have killed him though you did not love him. Yes, of
course--I know that. Your love was better placed; but it was like a
little bird caught by the hawk in the upper air--its flight was only a
little one before the hawk found it. Yes, you would have killed Adrian,
as I did if you had had the courage. You wanted to do it, but I did it.
Do you remember when I sang for you on the evening of that day he died?
I sang, 'More Was Lost at Mohacksfield.' As soon as I saw your face
that evening I felt you knew all. You had been to his rooms and found
him dead. I