Hugh put the boy’s photograph with mechanical precision in its accustomed place, then turned away and threw himself into the nearest chair and rested his head on his hand. Now, for the first time, his heart seemed to fail him. It was stone-cold with fear, the horrible fear, of which premonitions had haunted him, off and on, during the three years of his great happiness, lest this crime which he had committed should cause him to forfeit Irene’s love. He had entered the house buoyant with hope. That morning he had received the offer of an appointment which was generally held to be the stepping-stone to the silk of the Queen’s Counsel. He had rushed up the stairs as eager as a boy, to tell Irene his news, and to see the quick flush of pleasure on her cheek. So impetuous had been his entrance that Jane, who had been awaiting his arrival with a warning word, had only reached the foot of the stairs when he opened the drawing-room door. And then the thunderbolt had fallen. He was too dazed as yet to speculate on the motives of Minna’s astonishing revelation to Gerard. The bare fact was sufficient. Irene knew the miserable secret. The anguish in her eyes struck the whole passionate man faint and helpless. Suddenly he roused himself with a start, walked with a firm fast stride through the open door, up the stairs and into Irene’s bedroom. As he expected, she was there, on the bed, her face hidden in the pillows. Through the open window, behind the dressing-table, came the raw, damp air. She struggled to her feet and held out a deprecating hand as he advanced to her. “Irene!” he said. His heart nearly broke over the word. “Leave me alone a little, Hugh,” she said quietly. “I will speak with you presently. I must think.” “Hear my story first, Irene, and that will aid the judgment you will pass upon me.” “I can’t judge you,” she replied. “There are feelings independent of intellectual judgment.” “But hear me,” he pleaded. “I can guess it all,” she said. “I shall have to tell it soon. Why not now? You can’t guess all. Every minute’s delay is widening the gulf between us, dear.” “It seems to be infinitely wide already,” she answered. “Why did you deceive me, Hugh? I trusted you so----” “Because I loved you.” “Love is perfect trust,” she said. “It is also protection. You committed a crime punishable at law for my sake. I did the same for yours.” “Do you suppose I would have let anything stand in the way of our union?” she said. “I knew that you would not, dear. But I also knew that such unions are hard for the woman. I wanted to lighten your lot, not make it heavier.” She shook her head, despairingly unconvinced. A word of anger, a note of passion, would have drawn from him passionate entreaties. Her self-contained and hopeless calm threw him back, as it were, upon himself. “Well. Perhaps you had better tell me now. Not here. It is cold.” She shivered, glanced at the window, and for the first time noticed that it was open.