s put it out of my head. It's something---- Something disastrous
to us."

"Something has happened to our money?"

"I wish that was all."

"Then what is it?" Her mind flashed out. "It has something to do with
Mary Justin."

"How did you know that?"

"I guessed."

"Well. It is. You see--in Switzerland we met."

"You _met_!"

"By accident. She had been staying at the hotel on Engstlen Alp."

"You slept there!" cried Rachel.

"I didn't know she was in the hotel until the next day."

"And then you came away!"

"That day."

"But you talked together?"

"Yes."

"And for some reason---- You never told me, Stephen! You never told me.
And you met. But---- Why is this, disaster?"

"Because Justin knows and he means to divorce her--and it may be he
will succeed...."

Rachel's face had become white, for some time she said nothing. Then
slowly, "And if he had not known and done that--I should never have
known."

I had no answer to make to that. It was true. Rachel's face was very
still, and her eyes stared at the situation laid bare to her.

"When you began," she choked presently, "when she wrote--I knew--I
felt----"

She ceased for fear she might weep, and for a time we walked in silence.

"I suppose," she said desperately at last, "he will get his divorce."

"I am afraid he will."

"There's no evidence--you didn't...."

"No."

"And I never dreamt----!"

Then her passion tore at her. "Stephen my dear," she wept, "you didn't?
you didn't? Stephen, indeed you didn't, did you? You kept faith with me
as a husband should. It was an accident--a real accident--and there was
no planning for you to meet together. It was as you say? I've never
doubted your word ever--I've never doubted you."

Well, at any rate I could answer that plainly, and I did.

"And you know, Stephen," she said, "I believe you. And I _can't_ believe
you. My heart is tormented. Why did you write to her? Why did you two
write and go on writing? And why did you tell me nothing of that
meeting? I believe you because I can't do anything but believe you. It
would kill me not to believe you in a thing that came so near to us. And
yet, there it is, like a knife being twisted in my heart--that you met.
Should I have known of your meeting, Stephen--ever? I know I'm talking
badly for you.... But this thing strikes me suddenly. Out of this clear
beautiful sky! And the children there--so happy in the sunshine! I was
so happy. So happy. With you