"Mr. Harringay in his last letter begged of me to come out by the next boat to Rangoon," her mother wrote. "He has quite opened my eyes to the truth, Moreen, not in such a way as to shock me all at once, but gradually. I always distrusted Ralph Fayne and never disguised the fact from you. I knew that his previous life had been far from irreproachable, but his treatment of you surpasses even _my_ expectations. I know _all_, my poor darling! and I know something which you do not know. His father did not die in Colombo at all; he died in a madhouse! and there are two other known dipsomaniacs in Ralph Fayne's family----" A hand reached over Moreen's shoulder and tore the letter from her. She turned with a cry--and looked up into her husband's quivering face! For a moment he stood over her, his left fist clenching and unclenching and his pale blue eyes glassy with anger. Then chokingly he spoke: "So you carry one of his letters about with you?" The veins were throbbing visibly upon his temples. Moreen clutched at the blanket but did not speak, dared not move, for if ever she had looked into the face of a madman it was at this moment when she looked into the face of Ralph Fayne. He suddenly grabbed the candle and, holding it close to the letter, began to read. His hands were perfectly steady, showing the tremendous nerve tension under which he laboured. Then his expression changed, but nothing of the maniac glare left his eyes. "From your mother," he said hoarsely, "and full of two things--your wrongs, _your_ wrongs! and Jack Harringay--Jack Harringay--always Jack Harringay! Damn him!" He put down the candle and began to tear the letter into tiny fragments, pouring forth the while a stream of coarse, blasphemous language. Moreen, who felt that consciousness was slipping from her, crouched there with a face deathly pale. Fayne began to laugh softly as he threw the torn-up letter from him piece by piece. "Damn him!" he said again. He turned the blazing eyes towards his wife. "You lying, baby-faced hypocrite! Why don't you admit that he is----" He stopped; the sinister laughter died upon his lips and he stood there shaking all over and with a sort of stark horror in his eyes dreadful to see. "Why don't you?" he muttered--and looked at her almost pathetically,--"why of course you can't--no one can----" He reeled and clutched at the tent-flap, then stumblingly made his way out. "No one can," came back in a shaky whisper--"no one can----" Moreen heard him staggering away, until the sound of his uncertain footsteps grew inaudible. A distant howling rose upon the night, and, nearer to the clearing, sounded a sort of tapping, not unlike that of a woodpecker. Some winged creature was fluttering over the tent. IV