A knock came on the door. Young Blake unlocked it, and stood opposite to it. His face was pale now. "He shan't come near you," he whispered to Sibylla over his shoulder. She made no sign. She sat resting her clasped hands on the table and gazing intently towards the door. There was no sign of confusion or of guilt about her. Her face was composed and calm. Young Blake's fists were clenched. He seemed to keep himself still with an effort. The door opened, and Grantley appeared on the threshold. He was very wet; the rain dripped from his hat as he took it off his head; salt spray hung on the hair over his ears. He shook himself as he shut the door behind him. Then he looked from Sibylla to Blake, and back to Sibylla, at last fixing his eyes on her. "You can't come in here," said Blake. "I'll come outside with you, if you like, but you can't come in here." Grantley took no notice. His eyes were on Sibylla. "Am I too late, Sibylla?" he asked. "Yes," she answered tranquilly, "too late." A sudden flush swept over Grantley's face, but in an instant his usual pallor had returned. "In the sense in which I spoke, is that true, Sibylla?" She shrugged her shoulders a little. She seemed composed and almost careless as she answered, with a touch of contempt: "No; but it is true, for all that." CHAPTER XVI THE UPPER AND THE NETHER STONE "Then you must come back with me," said Grantley. Young Blake sprang forward a step, crying--"By God, no!" Neither of them heeded him; their eyes were on one another. Already the fight was between the two, and the two only. "Do you really think that?" she asked. "I don't know how you come to be here--I suppose Christine warned you somehow; but it's by mere accident that you are here, and that I haven't gone before now. It makes no difference. You're not in time, as you call it. The thing is settled already; it was settled when I planned to come, not when I came. What you meant doesn't count. Do you really think I shall come back now?" "Yes, you must come back now." "Back to that life? Never! Of course you don't know what it was to me, and I don't suppose I could tell you. You wouldn't understand." Blake threw himself into a chair by the window. He was helplessly impatient of the situation. Grantley came a little nearer the table and stood there, to all seeming impassive. The appearance was not very deceptive. He was not now dominated by emotion; he was possessed by a resolve. His love for his wife was far buried in his heart; his set purpose was all he knew. "I don't see what you had to complain of," he said coldly. "The way we lived was your choice, not mine. But I'm not going to discuss that. I'm here to take you home to your husband's house and to your child." "I've faced all that a thousand times, and answered it a thousand times. It can't move me now. You'd better go away, Grantley." Again Blake rose; he did not lack physical courage.