She turned from him sharply and walked away, battling with herself. "You know what I mean," she said tremulously. "You know quite well what I mean. You were angry yesterday--angry because Hans Schafen--a servant--had told you something that made you distrust me. And because you were angry, you--you--you insulted me!" She turned round upon him suddenly with eyes of burning accusation. She was fighting, fighting, with all her might, to hide from him that frightened, quivering thing that she herself had recognized but yesterday. If it had been a plague-spot, she could not have guarded it more jealously. Its presence scared her. Her every instinct was to screen it somehow, somehow, from those keen eyes. For he was so horribly strong, so shrewd, so merciless! He came up to her as she wheeled. He took one of her quivering wrists, and held it, his fingers closely pressed upon the leaping pulse. "Sylvia!" he said, and this time there was an edge to his voice that made her aware that he was putting force upon himself. "I have never insulted you--or distrusted you. Everything was against me yesterday. But when I left you, I gave all I possessed into your keeping. It is in your keeping still. Does that look like distrust?" She gave, a quick, involuntary start, but he went on, scarcely pausing. "When a man is going into possible danger, and his wife is thinking of--other things, is he so greatly to blame if he takes the quickest means at his disposal of waking her up?" "Ah!" she said. Had he not waked her indeed? But yet--but yet--She looked at ham doubtfully. "Listen!" he said. "We've been going round in a circle lately. It's been like that infernal game we used to play as children. 'Snail,' wasn't it called? Where nobody ever got home and everybody always lost their tempers! Let's get out of it, Sylvia! Let's leave Guy and Schafen to look after things, and go to the top of the world by ourselves! I'll take great care of you. You'll be happy, you know. You'll like it." He spoke urgently, leaning towards her. There was nothing terrible about him at that moment. All the mastery had gone from his attitude. He was even smiling a little. Her heart gave a great throb. It was so long, so long, since he had spoken to her thus. And then, like a blasting wind, the memory of Guy's bitter words rushed across her. She seemed again to feel the sand of the desert blowing in her face, sand that was blended with ashes. Was it only a slave that he wanted after all? She hated herself for the thought, but she could not drive it out. "Don't you like that idea?" he said. Still she hesitated. "What of Guy?" she said. "We must think of him, Burke. We must." "I'm thinking of him," he said. "A little responsibility would probably do him good."