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.”

“But to leave him—­entirely—­” She broke off.  Someone was knocking at the outer door, and she was thankful for the interruption.  Burke turned away, and went to answer.  He came back with a note in his hand.

“It’s Merston’s house-boy,” he said.  “I’ve sent him round to the kitchen to get a feed.  Something’s up there, I am afraid.  Let’s see what he has to say!”

He opened the letter while he was speaking, and there fell a short silence while he read.  Sylvia took up her duster again.  Her hands were trembling.

In a moment Burke spoke.  “Yes, it’s from Merston.  The poor chap has had an accident, fallen from his horse and badly wrenched his back.  His overseer is away, and he wants to know if I will go over and lend a hand.  I must go of course.”  He turned round to her.  “You’ll be able to manage for a day or two?”