room. She opened the strong-box
stealthily, listening intently for every sound. She slipped the
packet of notes inside, and shut it again quickly with a queer
little twist of the heart as she caught sight of the envelope
containing the cigarette which once he had drawn from between her
lips. Then with a start she heard the sound of hoofs outside the
window, and she knew that Burke had returned.

She hurried from the room with the key in her hand, meeting him in
the passage. He had his back to the light, but she thought he
looked very grim. The past weeks had aged and hardened him. She
wondered if they had wrought a similar change in her.

He spoke to her at once, before she had time to formulate a
greeting.

"Ah, here you are! Will you come in here? I want to speak to you."

She went into the sitting-room with a curious feeling of
fatefulness that outweighed her embarrassment. There was no
intimacy in his speech, and that helped her also. She saw that he
would not touch upon that which had happened in the night.

He gave her a critical look as he entered. "Are you rested? Have
you had breakfast?"

She answered him nervously. "Yes, I am quite all right to-day.
Mary Ann brought me some breakfast in bed."

He nodded, dismissing the matter. "I have been over to see
Merston. He is on his legs again, practically well. But she is
not feeling up to the mark. She wants to know if you will go over.
I told her I thought you would. But don't go if you would rather
not!"

"Of course I will go," Sylvia said, "if I can do any good."

And then she looked at him with a sudden curious doubt. Had this
suggestion originated with him. Did he feel, as she felt, that the
present state of affairs was intolerable? Or was he, for her sake
alone, offering her the only sanctuary in his power?

His face told her nothing. She had not the faintest idea as to
whether he wished her to go or stay. But he accepted her decision
at once.

"I will take you over in the cart this evening," he said. "I
thought you would probably wish to go. They are more or less
expecting you."

His tone was practical, wholly free from emotion. But the wonder
still lingered in her mind. She spoke after a moment with slight
hesitation.

"You--will be able to manage all right without me?"

"I shall try," said Burke.

There was no perceptible cynicism in his tone, yet she winced a
little, for in some fashion it hurt her. Again she