"Show him in," I answered mechanically. I had been thinking of him and accepted the announcement as a matter of course, though I had no reason to expect him at that moment. Less than a day had elapsed since I had read the report of Miles and I had now to confront Littell. There had been no opportunity to take counsel with myself upon my course. I had hardly yet grasped the full import of the situation and I must at once at this very moment meet him--talk to him. I could not do it. I needed more time, and desperately pulling some papers in front of me, I buried myself in what I meant to appear a mass of work. The door opened and he stood upon the threshold. I pretended neither to see nor hear his entrance, but I stole a glance at him without lifting my head. It was the same Littell; perfectly dressed, graceful, insouciant, the well remembered, attractive personality. "Well, Dick," he said, "I am with you again you see!" and in his voice was a note of genuine feeling as he stood there smiling a greeting to me. It was impossible to pretend unconsciousness longer and with an effort I looked up and met his open glance with my conscious, faltering one, and tried to respond as cordially as I could, but I kept my seat for I could not take his hand. It was not that I would not take the hand of a criminal, but that I could not give mine to a man I meant to destroy; so to cover up the omission and to avoid the questions that I feared he would put to me, I asked him to be seated while I finished my work. He looked at me inquiringly, but I avoided his eyes. "Well, go on with your work," he said quietly, "I am not in a hurry"; and he sat down and waited and watched me. I struggled to fix my attention on the matters before me and to maintain my composure, but it was more than I was equal to; I could not do it, and crushing my arms over the books and papers, I squared myself and faced him to meet the worst--anything was better than this suspense. "You are not inclined to work after all, it seems," he remarked, on observing my action. "No," I said, "I cannot." "What is the matter?" he asked, and what I should have answered I don't know, for at that moment there was a knock at the door and in response to my eager, "Come in!" Miles entered. No one knows the relief the interruption brought to me, for it meant at least some moral support--if not a respite. Miles looked at Littell and bowed, receiving a nod in response, and then glanced inquiringly at me, and I understood the question and shook my head. Littell may have observed us, but if so, there was no evidence of it, for he continued as imperturbable as ever. "Do you wish to speak to me privately?" I asked Miles. "No, I think not," he replied; "what I have to say will interest Mr. Littell as well"; and without waiting to be questioned, he added, "Winters is dying!"