He spoke in such even and perfectly natural tones, that just for a moment--it was a mere flash--Louisa wondered if he were absolutely sane. It seemed impossible that any man could preserve such calm in face of the most appalling fate that ever threatened human being. She, too, like the indifferent, hide-bound official this afternoon was seized with an irrepressible desire to break through that surface of ice. The outer covering must be very thin, she thought; her presence must have melted all the coldness that lay immediately below the surface. Without saying another word, quietly and simply she came down on her knees. Her skirts had not swished as she did so, not a sound from her revealed the movement. When he looked up again, her face was on a level with his, and her eyes--those great luminous eyes that shed no tears at moments such as this--looked straight into his own. "For pity's sake, Lou," he said, "don't make a drivelling coward of me now." And he rose, pushing his chair aside, leaving her there, kneeling beside the desk, humbled and helpless. And he retreated within the shadow of the room. "Luke," she said, imploring him, "you are going to tell me all that troubles you." "Nothing," he replied curtly, "troubles me. You are wasting your sympathy, you know. And I have a train to catch." "You are not going, Luke?" "Indeed I am." "You condemn yourself for a crime which you have not committed." "I am already as good as condemned. But I do not choose to hang for the murder of the Clapham bricklayer's son." He laughed. It almost sounded like a natural laugh--would have done so, no doubt, to all ears except hers. Then he added dryly: "Such a purposeless crime too. Fancy being hanged for killing Paul Baker." "Luke," she said simply, "you don't seem to realize how you are hurting me!" One ejaculation, "My God!" escaped him then. He stood quite still, in the shadow, and presently his hand wandered with the old familiar gesture down the smooth back of his head. She remained on her knees and after awhile he came back to her, and sat down on the chair beside the desk, his eyes on a level with hers. "Look here, Lou," he said quietly, "I have got to go and that's all about it. I have got to, do you understand? The consequences of this crime cannot be faced--not by any one--not by me. There's Uncle Rad to think of first. He is broken and ill; he has more than one foot in the grave. The trial and the scandal couldn't be kept from him; it would be bound to leak out sooner or later. It would be too big a scandal, and it would kill him outright. Then, you see, Lou, it would never do! I should be Earl of Radclyffe and a felon--it wouldn't do, now would it? Who has ever heard of a peer undergoing a life sentence--or being hanged? It wouldn't do--you know it wouldn't do----"