His sense, indeed, of their sympathy began to move him, to break down his own self-command. No doubt, also, the fatal causes that ultimately ruined his will-power were already at work. At any rate, he broke out into sudden speech about his case. His complexion, now unhealthily delicate, like the complexion of a girl, had flushed deeply. As he spoke he looked mainly at French. "There's lots of things you don't know," he said in a hesitating voice, as though appealing to his old friend. And rapidly he told the story of Daphne's flight from Heston. Evidently since his return home many details that were once obscure had become plain to him; and the three listeners could perceive how certain new information had goaded, and stung him afresh. He dwelt on the letters which had reached him during his first week's absence from home, after the quarrel--letters from Daphne and Miss Farmer, which were posted at intervals from Heston by their accomplice, the young architect, while the writers of them were hurrying across the Atlantic. The servants had been told that Mrs. Barnes, Miss Farmer, and the little girl were going to London for a day or two, and suspected nothing. "I wrote long letters--lots of them--to my wife. I thought I had made everything right--not that there ever had been anything wrong, you understand,--seriously. But in some ways I had behaved like a fool." He threw himself back in his chair, pressing his hands on his eyes. The listeners sat or stood motionless. "Well, I might have spared my pains. The letters were returned to me from the States. Daphne had arranged it all so cleverly that I was some time in tracing her. By the time I had got to Sioux Falls she was through a month of her necessary residence. My God!"--his voice dropped, became almost inaudible--"if I'd only carried Beatty off _then_!--then and there--the frontier wasn't far off--without waiting for anything more. But I wouldn't believe that Daphne could persist in such a monstrous thing, and, if she did, that any decent country would aid and abet her." Boyson made a movement of protest, as though he could not listen any longer in silence. "I am ashamed to remind you, Barnes,--again--that your case is no worse than that of scores of American citizens. We are the first to suffer from our own enormities." "Perhaps," said Barnes absently, "perhaps." His impulse of speech dropped. He sat, drearily staring into the fire, absorbed in recollection. * * * * *