She turned on the lights, and Richard Maule, looking at her fixedly, found his first quick impression modified. Her lovely face was thin and strained. There were shadows under her dark, violet eyes. But even so, how strong she was, how full of vibrating vitality! By her side Richard Maule felt that he must appear dead, or worse, ill to death. Athena was dressed in the purple gown she had worn the night Lingard had first come to Rede Place. So had she looked when she had opened the door of the Greek Room and led in their--hers and Richard's--illustrious guest. There was something desperate, defiant in the look she now cast on him. She was telling herself how awful it was to know that this wreck of a man standing before her could hold the whole of her future in his weak and yet tenacious grasp! How cruel that this--this cripple should possess the right to grant or to deny what had become the crowning wish of her heart! Perhaps something of what was in her mind penetrated to Richard Maule's quick brain. "The ailing and the infirm," he said, staring at her fixedly, "are treated by the kind folk about them like children. They are never left alone. I do not choose that our household should know that I desire to have a private interview with you, and so I thought the simplest thing would be to come here and wait for you----" "What is it you wish to say to me?" Her voice shook with suspense. She clasped her hands together with an unconscious gesture of supplication. "I have brought you--I have brought us all--the order of release." A feeling of exultant joy--of relief which pierced so keenly that it was akin to pain, filled Athena Maule's soul. She had indeed been well inspired to tell Jane all that was in her heart--and Hew's. And here was Richard actually saying so! For, "You chose a most excellent Mercury," he observed dryly. "You mean Jane Oglander?" her voice again shook a little. "She was not my messenger. She asked my permission to speak to you----" "Yes, I mean Jane Oglander. She showed me where my duty lay. For a while I hesitated between two courses--for you know, Athena, there were two courses open to me." She looked at him without speaking. How cruel, how--how unmanly, of Richard to say this! And how futile. There was only one moment when he could have divorced her. Providence had stood her friend by choosing just that moment to make him ill. Since then--she thought she had learnt enough English law to know that--he would be held to have condoned. But her look made him feel ashamed. The javelin does not thus play with its victim. "I beg your pardon," he muttered almost inaudibly. "I know you have always hated me," she said passionately. "You have not known that always," he answered sombrely--and for a moment she hung her head. "Perhaps now, Richard, we may be better friends."