"That is no answer to my question," Monck said firmly. "Confound you!" Dacre blazed into open wrath. "Who the devil are you to enquire into my private affairs? Do you think I am going to put up with your damned impertinence? What?" "I think you will have to." Monck spoke quitely, but there was deadly determination in his words. "It's a choice of evils, and if you are wise you will choose the least. Are you going to read the letter?" Dacre stared at him for a moment or two with eyes of glowering resentment; but in the end he put forth a hand not wholly steady and took the sheet held out to him. Monck stood beside him in utter immobility, gazing out over the valley with a changeless vigilance that had about it something fateful. Minutes passed. Dacre seemed unable to lift his eyes from the page. But it fluttered in his hold, though the night was still, as if a strong wind were blowing. Suddenly he moved, as one who violently breaks free from some fettering spell. He uttered a bitter oath and tore the sheet of paper passionately to fragments. He flung them to the ground and trampled them underfoot. "Ten million curses on her!" he raved. "She has been the bane of my life!" Monck's eyes came out of the distance and surveyed him, coldly curious. "I thought so," he said, and in his voice was an odd inflection as of one who checks a laugh at an ill-timed jest. Dacre stamped again like an infuriated bull. "If I had her here--I'd strangle her!" he swore. "That brother of yours is an artist. He has sketched her to the life--the she-devil!" His voice cracked and broke. He was breathing like a man in torture. He swayed as he stood. And still Monck remained passive, grim and cold and unyielding. "How long is it since you married her?" he questioned at last. "I tell you I never married her!" Desperately Dacre sought to recover lost ground, but he had slipped too far. "You told me that lie before," Monck observed in his even judicial tones. "Is it--worth while?" Dacre glared at him, but his glare was that of the hunted animal trapped and helpless. He was conquered, and he knew it. Calmly Monck continued. "There is not much doubt that she holds proof of the marriage, and she will probably try to establish it as soon as she is free." "She will never get anything more out of me," said Dacre. His voice was low and sullen. There was that in the other man's attitude that stilled his fury, rendering it futile, even in a fashion ridiculous. "I am not thinking of you." Monck's coldness had in it something brutal. "You are not the only person concerned. But the fact remains--this woman is your wife. You may as well tell the truth about it as not--since I know."