In Elizabeth’s little brown room the silence weighed and the time lagged. Mary walked up and down, moving perpetually—restlessly—uselessly. There was a small Dutch mirror above the writing-table. Its cut glass border caught the light, and reflected it in diamond points and rainbow flashes. It was the brightest thing in the room. Mary stood for a moment and looked at her own face. She began to arrange her hair with nervous, trembling fingers. She rubbed her cheeks, and straightened the lace at her throat. Then she fell to pacing up and down again. “The room’s so hot,” she said suddenly. And she went quickly to the window and flung it open. The air came in, cold and mournfully damp. Mary drew half a dozen long breaths. Then she shivered, her teeth chattered. She shut the window with a jerk, and as she did so David Blake came into the room. It was Elizabeth he saw, and it was to Elizabeth that he spoke. “Is anything the matter? Anything fresh?” Elizabeth moved aside, and all at once he saw Mary Mottisfont. “Mary wants to speak to you,” said Elizabeth. She made a step towards the door, but Mary called her sharply. “No, Liz—stay!” And Elizabeth drew back into the shadowed corner by the window, whilst Mary came forward into the light. For a moment there was silence. Mary’s hands were clasped before her, her chin was a little lifted, her eyes were desperately intent. “David,” she said in a low fluttering voice, “oh, David—I was in here—I heard—I could not help hearing.” “What did you hear?” asked David Blake. The words came from him with a sort of startled hardness. “I heard everything you said to Edward—about Mr. Mottisfont. You said it was poison. I heard you say it.” “Yes,” said David Blake. “And Edward took him the tea,” said Mary quickly. “Don’t you see, David—don’t you see how dreadful it is for Edward? People who didn’t know him might say—they might think such dreadful things—and if there were an inquest—” the words came in a sort of strangled whisper. “There can’t be an inquest—there _can’t_. Oh, David, you’ll sign the certificate, won’t you?” David’s face had been changing while she spoke. The first hard startled look went from it. It was succeeded by a flash of something like horror, and then by pain—pain and a great pity. “No, Mary, dear, I can’t,” he said very gently. He looked at her, and further words died upon his lips. Mary came nearer. There was a big chair in front of the fireplace, and she rested one hand on the back of it. It seemed as if she needed something firm to touch, her world was shifting so. David had remained standing by the door, but Mary was not a yard away from him now.