"There is no accounting for what people do in these moments of confusion and terror: some act in one way, some in another," she said, slowly. "Anne, I don't like to speak out openly to you—what I fear and what I don't fear. It was imperative upon George Heneage to hasten home—and he may not have believed that Philip King was really dead." "But, Selina——" "Go! go! lie down there," she said, drawing me to the distant sofa, and pushing me on it, with the pillow over my head. "You are asleep, mind! He might think I had been tutoring you." So sudden and unexpected was the movement, I could only obey, and lie still. Selina unbolted the door, and was back in her seat before Mr. Edwin Barley entered the room. "Are you coming down to dinner, Selina?" "Dinner! It is well for you that you can eat it," was her answer. "You must dine without me to-day—those who dine at all. Now, don't disturb that sleeping child, Mr. Barley! I was just going to send her to bed." "It might do you more good to eat dinner than to roam about in a night-fog," was Mr. Edwin Barley's rejoinder. "It is rather curious you should choose such a night as this to be out, half-naked." "Not curious," she said, coldly: "very natural." "Very! Especially that you should be tearing up and down the wood paths, like a mad woman. Others saw you as well as myself, and are speaking of it." "Let them speak." "But for what purpose were you there?" "I was looking for George Heneage. There! you may make the most of it." "Did you find him?" "No. I wish I had: _I wish I had_. I should have learnt from him the truth of this night's business; for the truth, as I believe, has not come to light yet." "What do you suppose to be the truth?" he returned, in a tone of surprise; whether natural, or assumed, who could say? "No matter—no matter now: it is something that I scarcely dare to glance at. Better, even, that Heneage had done it, than—than—what I am thinking of. My head is confused to-night," she broke off; "my mind unhinged—hardly sane. You had better leave me, Mr. Barley." "You had better come and eat a bit of dinner," he said, roughly, but not unkindly. "None of us can touch much, I daresay, but we are going to sit down. William is staying, and so is Martin. Won't you come and try to take a bit? Or shall I send you something up?" "It would be of no use." Mr. Edwin Barley looked at her: she was shivering outwardly and inwardly. I could just see out under the corner of the cushion. "You have caught a violent cold, Selina. How could you think of going out?" "I will tell you," she added, in a more conciliating spirit. "I went out because you went. To prevent any encounter between you and George Heneage,—I mean any violence. After that, I stayed looking for him." "You need not have feared violence from me. I should have handed him over to the police, nothing more." There was a mocking sound in his voice as he spoke. Selina sat down and put her feet on the fender.