At Arthur’s swift gesture of exasperation, she moved forward, intervening. “Let me speak!” she said. “I will answer your questions.” She stood between the two men, and again, vesting her with a majesty which was not normally hers, there came to her aid the consciousness of standing for the right. Whatever the outcome, she recognized that the protection of Rotherby must somehow be accomplished. To save the one man from death and the other from committing a murder, she braced herself for the greatest battle of her life. Arthur’s look came back to her. He regarded her sombrely, as though he recognized in her a factor that must be dealt with. “You say he brought you here for supper,” he said. “Did he give you no reason for believing that he meant to keep you here all night?” She faced him steadfastly. The man’s life hung in the balance. It rested with her—it rested with her. “I was on the point of leaving when you arrived,” she said. “Is that the truth?” he said. “It is the truth,” she answered quietly. “You honestly believe he meant to let you go?” “Yes.” Her eyes looked straight into his with the words. She realized that the tension was slackening, but she dared not relax her own vigilance. The danger was not yet past. Not yet had she accomplished her end. “He has never given you any cause to distrust him?” Arthur said. She hesitated momentarily. “I am trusting him now,” she said finally. “Why?” He flung the word with a touch of fierceness. “You are saying this to bluff me. It is not true.” “It is true,” she said resolutely, paused a second, then very firmly made her position secure. “I am trusting him because—because I have promised to be his wife.” The declaration fell between them like a bombshell. She did not know how she uttered it, and having done so, there came a mist before her eyes which seemed to fog all her senses, making it impossible for her to gauge the result—to realize in any sense the devastation she had wrought. She thought she heard him draw the breath between his teeth as though he repressed some sign of suffering. But she was not sure even of this, so desperate for the moment was her own extremity. It could not have lasted for long, that wild tumult of emotion, but when it passed she was trembling from head to foot as though she had merged from some frightful conflict. She wanted to protest for very anguish that she could not endure any more, she could not—she could not! But her voice was gone. She stood waiting, wondering how soon her strength would utterly fail. Arthur’s voice came to her at last, low, hoarse with restraint. “So that is why you came to town!”