His words were like the snap of a steel rope. They made her flinch by their very ruthlessness. She had sprung from sleep with bewildered senses. She was not-prepared to do battle in her own defence. She hesitated, and immediately his hand closed upon her shoulder. It seemed to her that she had never known what anger could be like before this moment. All the force of the man seemed to be gathered together in one tremendous wave, menacing her. "Tell me what you want with him!" he said. She shuddered from head to foot as if she had been struck with a scourge. "Burke! What do you mean?" she cried out desperately. "You--you must be mad!" "Answer me!" he said. His hold was a grip. The ice in his eyes had turned to flame. Her heart leapt and quivered within her like a wild thing fighting to escape. "I--don't know what you mean," she panted. "I have done nothing wrong. I came after him to--to try and bring him back." "Then why did you come secretly?" he said, She shrank from the intolerable inquisition of his eyes. "I wanted to see him--alone," she said. "Why?" Again it was like the merciless cut of a scourge. She caught her breath with a sharp sound that was almost a cry. "Why?" he reiterated. "Answer me! Answer me!" She did not answer him. She could not. And in the silence that followed, it seemed to her that something within her--something that had been Vitally wounded--struggled and died. "Look at me!" he said. She lifted an ashen face. His eyes held hers, and the torture of his hell encompassed her also. "Tell me the truth!" he said. "I shall know if you lie. When did you see him last?" She shook her head. "A long while ago. Ages ago. Before you left the farm." The memory of his going, his touch, his smile went through her with the words. She had a sickening sensation as of having been struck over the heart. "Where did you spend last night?" he said. "At Ritzen." Her white lips seemed to speak mechanically. She herself stood apart as it were, stunned beyond feeling. "You came here by rail---alone?" The voice of the inquisitor pierced her numbed sensibilities, compelling--almost dictating--her answer. "Yes--alone." "You had arranged to meet here then?" Still the scourging continued, and she marvelled at herself, that she felt so little. But feeling was coming back. She was waiting for it, dreading it. She answered without conscious effort. "No--I came after him. He doesn't know I am here." "And yet you are posing as his wife?" She felt that. It cut through her apathy irresistibly. A sharp tremor went through her. "That," she said rather breathlessly, "was a mistake." "It was." said Burke. "The greatest mistake of your life. It is a pity you took the trouble to lie to me. The truth would have served you better." He turned from her contemptuously with the words, setting her free.