tell you from her that she quite
understands your attitude; but that you needn't be anxious, as she has no
intention of marrying again."

"Confound her impudence!" ejaculated Sir Beverley.

"Oh no!" Piers' voice sounded too tired to be indignant. "I don't think
you can accuse her of that. There has never been any flirtation between
us. It wasn't her fault. I--made a fool of myself. It just happened in
the ordinary course of things."

He ceased to speak, laid down the poker without sound, and sat with
clasped hands, staring blindly before him.

Again there fell a silence. The clock in the corner ticked on with
melancholy regularity, the logs hissed and spluttered viciously; but
the two men sat in utter stillness, both bowed as if beneath a
pressing burden.

One of them moved at last, stretched out a bony, trembling hand, laid it
on the other's shoulder.

"Piers boy," Sir Beverley said, with slow articulation, "believe me,
there's not a woman on this earth worth grizzling about. They're liars
and impostors, every one."

Piers started a little, then with a very boyish movement, he laid his
cheek against the old bent fingers. "My dear sir," he said, "but you're a
woman-hater!"

"I know," said Sir Beverley, still in that heavy, fateful fashion. "And I
have reason. I tell you, boy,--and I know,--you would be better off in
your coffin than linked to a woman you seriously cared for. It's hell on
earth--hell on earth!"

"Or paradise," muttered Piers.

"A fool's paradise, boy; a paradise that turns to dust and ashes." Sir
Beverley's voice quivered suddenly. He withdrew his hand to fumble in an
inner pocket. In a moment he stretched it forth again with a key lying
on the palm.

"Take that!" he said. "Open that bureau thing behind you! Look in the
left-hand drawer! There's something there for you to see."

Piers obeyed him. There was that in Sir Beverley's manner that silenced
all questioning. He pulled out the drawer and looked in. It contained one
thing only--a revolver.

Sir Beverley went on speaking, calmly, dispassionately, wholly
impersonally. "It's loaded--has been loaded for fifty years. But I never
used it. And that not because my own particular hell wasn't hot enough,
but just because I wouldn't have it said that I'd ever loved any
she-devil enough to let her be my ruin. There were times enough when I
nearly did it. I've sat all night with the thing in my hand. But I hung
on for that reason, till at last