Shackwell began to speak, but the Governor interposed calmly: "Fleetwood has come to tell me that he does not wish to remain in office." "Ah!" she murmured. There was another silence. Fleetwood broke it by saying: "It is getting late. If you want to see me to-morrow--" The Governor looked from his face to Ella's. "Yes; go now," he said. Shackwell moved in Fleetwood's wake to the door. Mrs. Mornway stood with her head high, smiling slightly. She shook hands with each of the men in turn; then she moved toward the sofa and laid aside her shining cloak. All her gestures were calm and noble, but as she raised her hand to unclasp the cloak her husband uttered a sudden exclamation. "Where did you get that bracelet? I don't remember it." "This?" She looked at him with astonishment. "It belonged to my mother. I don't often wear it." "Ah--I shall suspect everything now," he groaned. He turned away and flung himself with bowed head in the chair behind his writing-table. He wanted to collect himself, to question her, to get to the bottom of the hideous abyss over which his imagination hung. But what was the use? What did the facts matter? He had only to put his memories together--they led him straight to the truth. Every incident of the day seemed to point a leering finger in the same direction, from Mrs. Nimick's allusion to the imported damask curtains to Gregg's confident appeal for rehabilitation. "If you imagine that my wife distributes patronage--" he heard himself repeating inanely, and the walls seemed to reverberate with the laughter which his sister and Gregg had suppressed. He heard Ella rise from the sofa and lifted his head sharply. "Sit still!" he commanded. She sank back without speaking, and he hid his face again. The past months, the past years, were dancing a witches' dance about him. He remembered a hundred significant things.... _Oh, God_, he cried to himself, _if only she does not lie about it!_ Suddenly he recalled having pitied Mrs. Nimick because she could not penetrate to the essence of his happiness. Those were the very words he had used! He heard himself laugh aloud. The clock struck--it went on striking interminably. At length he heard his wife rise again and say with sudden authority: "John, you must speak." Authority--she spoke to him with authority! He laughed again, and through his laugh he heard the senseless rattle of the words, "If you imagine that my wife distributes patronage ..." He looked up haggardly and saw her standing before him. If only she would not lie about it! He said: "You see what has happened." "I suppose some one has told you about the 'Spy.'" "Who told you? Gregg?" he interposed. "Yes," she said quietly. "That was why you wanted--?" "Why I wanted you to help him? Yes." "Oh, God! ... He wouldn't take money?" "No, he wouldn't take money."