I moved towards her. I stretched out my hands and seized her. As I did
so, a sort of sob burst from her. Her hands were cold and trembling.

"What is it? What has frightened you?" I reiterated.

At last she spoke in a low voice.

"You--you looked so strange, so--so cruel as you came in," she said.

"Strange! Cruel! But you could not see me. It was dark," I answered.

"Dark!" she said.

"Yes, until I lit the candle. And you cried out when I was only in the
doorway. You could not see me there."

"Why not? What has that got to do with it?" she murmured, still
trembling violently.

"You can see me in the dark?"

"Of course," she said. "I don't understand what you mean. Of course I
can see you when you are there before my eyes."

"But----" I began; and then her obvious and complete surprise at my
questions stopped them. I still held her hands in mine, and their
extreme coldness roused me to the remembrance that she was unclothed.

"You will be ill if you stay here," I said. "Come back to your room."

She said nothing, and I led her back, waited while she got into bed, and
then, placing the candle on the dressing-table, sat down in a chair by
her side.

The strong determination to take prompt action, to come to an
explanation, to end these dreary mysteries of mind and conduct, was
still upon me.

I did not think of the strange hour; I did not care that the night was
gliding on towards dawn. I was self-absorbed. I was beyond ordinary
considerations.

Yet I did not speak immediately. I was trying to be quite calm, trying
to think of the best line for me to take. So much might depend upon our
mere words now. At length I said, laying my hand upon hers, which was
outside the coverlet:

"Margot, what were you doing in that room at such a strange hour? Why
were you there?"

She hesitated obviously. Then she answered, not looking at me:

"I missed you. I thought you might be there--writing."

"But you were in the dark."

"I thought you would have a light."

I knew by her manner that she was not telling me the truth, but I went
on quietly:

"If you expected me, why did you cry out when I came to the door?"

She tried to draw her hand away, but I held it fast, closing, my fingers
upon it with even brutal strength.

"Why did you cry out?"

"You--you looked so strange, so cruel."

"So cruel!"

"Yes. You frightened me--you frightened me horribly."

She began suddenly to sob, like one completely over