Janey looked at him in a great compassion. "He will come back to me," she said to herself, "not for a long time, but he will come back. Broken and disillusioned and aged, and with only a bit of a heart to give me. He will never care much about me, but I shall be all he has left in the world. And I will take him, whatever he is." She put out her hand for her work and busied herself with it, knowing instinctively that the occupation of her hands and eyes upon it would fret him less than if she sat idle and looked at him. She had nothing to learn about how to deal with Roger. She worked for some time in silence, and hope dead and buried rose out of his deep grave in her heart, and came towards her once more. Was it indeed hope that stirred in its grave, this pallid figure with the shroud still enfolding it, or was it but its ghost? She knew not. At last Roger raised a tortured face out of his hands. "Of course, she _says_ she is innocent," he said, looking hopelessly at Janey. Janey started violently. Her work fell from her hands. "Annette--says--she--is--innocent," she repeated after him, a flame of colour rushing to her face. "Yes. Mary Deane said the same. They always say it." Janey shook as in an ague. She saw suddenly in front of her a gulf of infamy unspeakable, ready to swallow her if she agreed with him--she who always agreed with him. He would implicitly believe her. The little gleam of hope which had fallen on her aching, mutilated life went out. She was alone in the dark. For a moment she could neither see nor hear. "If Annette says she is innocent, it's true," she said hoarsely, putting her hand to her throat. The room and the lamp became visible again, and Roger's eyes fixed on her, like the eyes of a drowning man, wide, dilated, seen through deep water. "If Annette says so, it's true," she repeated. "She may have done wrong. She says she has. But she does not tell lies. You know that." "She says Dick did not try to entrap her, that she went with him of her own accord." "But don't you see that Dick _did_ take advantage of her, all the same, a mean advantage, when she was stunned by despair? I don't suppose you have ever known what it is to feel despair, Roger. But I know what it is. I know what Annette felt when her lover failed her." "She told me she meant to drown herself. She said she did not care what became of her." "You don't know what it means to feel like that." Roger heard again the thud and beat of the distant train in the sod against his ear. "Yes, I do," he said, looking at her under his heavy brows.