"I didn't know. I thought it would be all right. I was all alone that afternoon, out for a walk by myself--and you'd told me how you did it. I'd only got to tell the same story. I couldn't see how any one should know---I couldn't really . . . I don't suppose"--many gulps--"that I thought much about that--I only wanted to save you." How bright and wonderful the day! How full of colour the world! And it was all over, all absolutely, finally done. "Now--look here, stop that sniffing--it's all right. I'm not angry with you. Just tell me exactly what you said to Craven yesterday when you told him." Bunning thought. "Well, he came into my room quite early after my breakfast. I was reading my Bible, as I used to, you know, every morning, to see whether I could be interested again, as I used to be. I was finding I couldn't when Craven came in. He looked queer. He's been looking queerer every day, and I don't think he's been sleeping. Then he began to ask me questions, not actually about anything, but odd questions like, Where was I born? and Why did I read the Bible? and things like that--just to make me comfortable--and his eyes were so funny, red and small and never still. Then he got to you." The misery now in Bunning's eyes was more than Olva could bear. It was dumb, uncomprehending misery, the unhappiness of something caught in a trap--and that trap this glittering dancing world! "Then he got to you! He always asked me the same questions. How long I'd known you?--Why we got on together when we were so different?--silly meaningless things--and he didn't listen to my answers. He was always thinking of the next things to ask and that frightened me so." The misery in Bunning's eyes grew deeper. "Suddenly I thought I saw what was meant--that I was intended to take it on myself. It made me warm all over, the though of it. . . . Now, I was going to do something . . . that's how I saw it!" "Going to do something . . ." he repeated desperately, with choking sobs between the words. "It's all happened so quickly. He had just said absently, not looking at me, 'You like Dune, don't you?' "When I came out with it all at once---I said, 'Yes, I know, I know what _you_ want. You think that Dune killed Carfax and that _I_ know he did, but he didn't _I_ killed Carfax. . . .'" Bunning's voice quite rang out. His eyes now desperately sought Olva's face, as though he would find there something that would make the world less black. "I wasn't frightened---not then---that was the odd thing. The only thing I thought about was saving you---getting you out of it. I didn't see! I didn't see!" "And then---what did Craven say?" Olva asked quietly.