t rang false. His own voice sounded to him as that of
an actor, who does his poor best to be forcible and pathetic. Yet what
lie had he told? Could he say all he thought he had read in Thyrza's
eyes? There was the parting that night beyond Lambeth Bridge; how could
he speak of that? Was he himself not absolutely innocent? Had he not by
a desperate struggle avoided as much as a glance of tenderness at the
girl for whom he was mad with love?

Gilbert spoke at length.

'I find it very hard to believe that you know nothing more. There are
other things. As soon as we knew that she was gone, that Friday night,
I came here to ask for you.'

'And why? Why to me?'

'Because she had been seen with you at the library, and people had
begun to talk. They told me you were gone, and I asked for your
address. They wouldn't give it me.'

'That meant nothing whatever. It was merely my landlady's idea of her
responsibility to me.'

'Yes, that may be. On Saturday night a letter came from you, from
Jersey.'

'Well? Was that the kind of letter I could have written if I had been
such a traitor to you?'

'I don't know what the letter would have seemed to me if I had been
able to judge it with my ordinary mind. I couldn't: I was going through
too much. I believed it false. On Monday I went to Southampton, and
from there at night to Jersey; it was the earliest that I could get
there.'

'You went to Jersey?'

'I had no choice. I had to see you. And I found you had gone away on
Saturday morning, gone to France. It was only Saturday night that I got
your letter. There was no word in it about going to France; instead of
that, you said plainly that you would be in Jersey for a week or more.'

'It is true. I see how I have made evidence against myself.'

He said it with impatience, but at once added in a steadier voice:

'I wrote the letter and posted it on Friday night, when I had only been
at St. Aubin's half a day. The very next morning I was compelled by
restlessness to give up my idea of remaining there. When I wrote to you
I had no thought of leaving the island.'

How pleasant it was to be able to speak with unshadowed veracity!
Walter all but smiled, and, when the other made no reply, he went on in
a voice almost of pleading:

'You believe this? Is your mind so set against me that you will accuse
me of any cowardice rather than credit my word?'

A change came over Gilbert's face. It was wrung with pain, and as he
looked up