“I knew you,” said Raymond very low. “Only because the lower part of my face was hidden. You’d have passed me in daylight. You have passed me.” She winced at that, turned the light full on to him again, and said: “You are working in the laboratory—that’s—that’s why....” She broke off for a minute and went on with a sort of violence, “You say that I didn’t know you, but I did—I did. All this week I’ve been tormented with your presence. All this week I’ve felt you just at hand, just out of reach. I kept saying to myself, ‘Tony’s dead,’ and expecting to meet you round every corner. It was driving me mad.” “It sounds most uncomfortable,” said Anthony dryly. Raymond saw a mocking look pass over his face. She turned the light away and set it down. If she had not felt physically incapable of rising to her feet, she would have left him then. This was not Anthony at all, only the anger, the bitterness, the cold resentment which she had hated in him. These, not Anthony, had come back from the grave. He was speaking again: “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but ... are you expecting to meet any one here? Am I in the way?” She answered him with a sort of heartbroken simplicity quite beyond pride: “I don’t know what I expected. You were haunting me so. I came here because ... oh, Tony, don’t you remember at all?” “I remember something that you appear to have forgotten, Raymond. When like a fool, and a dishonourable fool at that, I gave you the secret of these passages, I remember very well the rather enthusiastic terms in which you asserted your conviction that the secret was a sacred trust, and one that you would keep absolutely inviolate. As, however, I broke my own trust in giving you the secret, I can, I suppose, hardly complain because you have imitated my lack of discretion.” Raymond did rise then. “Tony, what do you mean?” she cried. “My dear Raymond, you know very well what I mean.” “I do not.” Her voice had risen; this was more the Raymond of their old quarrels, a creature quick to passionate anger, vehement and reckless. “I say you know very well.” “And I say that I do not. That I haven’t the shadow of an idea—and that you must explain, Tony; explain.” “Oh, I’ll explain all right!” The last word was almost lost in a battering gust of wind. He waited for it to die away, and then: “How soon did you give away the secret to Ember?” he said, and heard her gasp. “To Jeffrey—you think I told Jeffrey?” Anthony laughed. It needed only her use of Ember’s name. “I know that you told Ember,” he said in a voice like ice. Raymond put her hands to her head. She pressed her throbbing temples and stared at this shadow of Anthony. It was beyond any nightmare that they should meet like this. She made a very great effort, and came up to him, touching his wrist, trying to take his hand.