The motor-horn was already sounding below when Dominey was admitted to his wife's apartment. She was dressed in a loose gown of a warm crimson colour, and she had the air of one awaiting his arrival expectantly. The passion of hatred seemed to have passed from her pale face and from the depths of her strangely soft eyes. She held out her hands towards him. Her brows were a little puckered. The disappointment of a child lurked in her manner. “You are going away?” she murmured. “In a very few moments,” he told her. “I have been waiting to see you for an hour.” She made a grimace. “It was Mrs. Unthank. I think that she hid my things on purpose. I was so anxious to see you.” “I want to talk to you about Mrs. Unthank,” he said. “Should you be very unhappy if I sent her away and found some one younger and kinder to be your companion?” The idea seemed to be outside the bounds of her comprehension. “Mrs. Unthank would never go,” she declared. “She stays here to listen to the voice. All night long sometimes she waits and listens, and it doesn't come. Then she hears it, and she is rested.” “And you?” he asked. “I am afraid,” she confessed. “But then, you see, I am not very strong.” “You are not fond of Mrs. Unthank?” he enquired anxiously. “I don't think so,” she answered, in a perplexed tone. “I think I am very much afraid of her. But it is no use, Everard! She would never go away.” “When I return,” Dominey said, “we shall see.” She took his arm and linked her hands through it. “I am so sorry that you are going,” she murmured. “I hope you will soon come back. Will you come back--my husband?” Dominey's nails cut into the flesh of his clenched hands. “I will come back within three days,” he promised. “Do you know,” she went on confidentially, “something has come into my mind lately. I spoke about it yesterday, but I did not tell you what it was. You need never be afraid of me any more. I understand.” “What do you understand?” he demanded huskily. “The knowledge must have come to me,” she went on, dropping her voice a little and whispering almost in his ear, “at the very moment when my dagger rested upon your throat, when I suddenly felt the desire to kill die away. You are very like him sometimes, but you are not Everard. You are not my husband at all. You are another man.” Dominey gave a little gasp. They both turned towards the door. Mrs. Unthank was standing there, her gaunt, hard face lit up with a gleam of something which was like triumph, her eyes glittering. Her lips, as though involuntarily, repeated her mistress' last words. “Another man!” CHAPTER XIV