egularly." He thrust his shaking hand into an inner
pocket. "Here are her envelopes...Quebec...Montreal...Saranac...I know
just where you went on your honeymoon. She had to write often, because
the sums were small. Why did she do it, if she wasn't afraid? And why
did she go upstairs just now to fetch me something? If you don't believe
me, ask her what she's got in her hand."

Amherst did not heed this injunction. He stood motionless, gripping the
back of a chair, as if his next gesture might be to lift and hurl it at
the speaker.

"Ask her----" Wyant repeated.

Amherst turned his head slowly, and his dull gaze rested on his wife.
His face looked years older--lips and eyes moved as heavily as an old
man's.

As he looked at her, Justine came forward without speaking, and laid the
little morocco case in his hand. He held it there a moment, as if hardly
understanding her action--then he tossed it on the table at his elbow,
and walked up to Wyant.

"You hound," he said--"now go!"

XXXVI

WHEN Wyant had left the room, and the house-door had closed on him,
Amherst spoke to his wife.

"Come upstairs," he said.

Justine followed him, scarcely conscious where she went, but moving
already with a lighter tread. Part of her weight of misery had been
lifted with Wyant's going. She had suffered less from the fear of what
her husband might think than from the shame of making her avowal in her
defamer's presence. And her faith in Amherst's comprehension had begun
to revive. He had dismissed Wyant with scorn and horror--did not that
show that he was on her side already? And how many more arguments she
had at her call! Her brain hummed with them as she followed him up the
stairs.

In her bedroom he closed the door and stood motionless, the same heavy
half-paralyzed look on his face. It frightened her and she went up to
him.

"John!" she said timidly.

He put his hand to his head. "Wait a moment----" he returned; and she
waited, her heart slowly sinking again.

The moment over, he seemed to recover his power of movement. He crossed
the room and threw himself into the armchair near the hearth.

"Now tell me everything."

He sat thrown back, his eyes fixed on the fire, and the vertical lines
between his brows forming a deep scar in his white face.

Justine moved nearer, and touched his arm beseechingly. "Won't you look
at me?"

He turned his head slowly, as if with an effort, and his eyes rested
reluctantly o