Margaret was at the door again, hooking the heavy silver cloak-clasp at his throat. He looked at her pitifully, saying nothing. He wished that he could help her, for the sake of her little one; but the letter had struck a jangle in him, and Stukeley had made him lose his temper. He thought that he had gone too far now, that he had shown Stukeley to be guilty. He could not bring himself to speak. He was worn out with the long anxiety of love. He was tired. Stukeley must fight his own battles, tell his own lies, maintain his own deceptions. He was too weary of it all to be sad, even when, after shaking the Governor’s hand and thanking him for his kindness, he turned to Olivia, with his hand outstretched. “Well, Olivia,” he said. “Well,” she said. “What d’you want, Charles?” “Are you going home?” he asked bluntly. “Of course I’m going home. Do you think that. Do you think I could live longer in that ship, eating, and lying down, and watching the sea, with this being said of me?” “Yes,” said Stukeley, “I think you could. Put on your wraps, Livy, and come on.” “Tom. Tom, dear.” “I would go, Mrs. Stukeley, if I were you,” said the Governor. “You couldn’t leave the colony here much before November.” “I am very sorry,” she answered. “But I don’t think you know the circumstances.” “I’ve discussed them with Captain Margaret,” he answered. “You discussed them, Charles?” “Yes,” Margaret said. “Howard gives good advice, Olivia.” “I don’t think my wife wants your advice,” said Stukeley. “Come, Livy. Here are your wraps. Come on. Don’t let’s have a scene.” “Tom,” she said, holding out her hands, swaying a little, her eyes blind with tears. “Tom, I beseech you, let’s go home. What is your pledged word to--to what they are saying?” “I’m going to keep my word,” he answered brutally. “Good-bye, Howard. Thanks for the pie-crust. I hope, next time I see you, you’ll have some decent wine. Your port is---- So long.” He turned to the other men. “Come on, Pilly. Come, Maggy.” As he walked to the door, he looked again at Howard. “So long, me lord,” he said. “Good-bye, Mr. Stukeley,” said Howard. “Shake hands.” “No, thank you.” Stukeley looked at him with some amusement. “Oxford man. Eh!” he said, and passed out. Olivia stood swaying, looking after him, calling to him, through her tears. “Will you come, Olivia?” Margaret asked her gently. “Come with you, Charles? With you? You believe Tom guilty.” “Olivia,” Perrin said, “this goes round your throat, doesn’t it? Then, here’s your glove. You mustn’t forget your glove.” He helped her with her things, evidently deeply pained. “Thank you, dear,” she said, speaking as one stunned. “Take my arm,” Perrin whispered. “Let’s get into the fresh air.”