When she turned it at length her hands were shaking, shaking so much that the paper rattled and quivered like a living thing. The writing ended on the further page, but before her eyes reached the signature the letter had fallen from her grasp. Anne, the calm, the self-contained, the stately, sat huddled in her chair--a trembling, stricken woman, with her hands pressed tightly over her eyes, as if to shut out some dread vision. In the silence that followed someone entered the room with a light, cat-like tread, and approached the window against which she sat. But so overwhelmed was she for the moment that she was unaware of any presence till Nap's voice spoke to her, and she started to find him close to her, within reach of her hand. She lifted her white face then, while mechanically she groped for the letter. It had fallen to the ground. He picked it up. "What is it?" he said, and she thought his voice sounded harsh. "You have had bad news?" She held out her hand for the letter. "No, it is good. I--am a little tired, that's all." "That is not all," he said, and she heard the dogged note in his voice that she had come to know as the signal of indomitable resolution. He sat down on the window seat close to her, still keeping the letter in his hand. She made a little hopeless gesture and sat silent, striving for composure. She knew that during the seconds that followed, his eyes never stirred from her face. It was his old trick of making her feel the compulsion of his will. Often before she had resisted it. To-night she was taken at a disadvantage. He had caught her unarmed. She was powerless. She turned her head at last and spoke. "You may read that letter," she said. The thin lips smiled contemptuously for an instant. "I have read it already," he said. She started slightly, meeting his eyes. "You have read it?" "In your face," he told her coolly. "It contains news of the man you call your husband. It is to say he is better--and--coming--home." He spoke the last words as though he were actually reading them one by one in her tragic eyes. "It is an experiment," she whispered. "He wishes it himself, it seems, and they think the change might prove beneficial. He is decidedly better--marvellously so. And he has expressed the desire to see me. Of course"--she faltered a little--"I should not be--alone with him. There would be an attendant. But--but you mustn't think I am afraid. It wasn't that. Only--only--I did not expect it. It has come rather suddenly. I am not so easily upset as a rule." She spoke hurriedly, almost as though she were pleading with him to understand and to pardon her weakness. But her words quivered into silence. Nap said nothing whatever. He sat motionless, the letter still in his hand, his eyes unswervingly fixed upon her, That sphinx-like stare became unbearable at last. She gathered her strength and rose. "You came upon me at an unlucky moment," she said. "Please forget it."