“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.

For a moment the relief of his going was such that the intention that lay behind it did not so much as occur to her.  Then suddenly it flashed upon her.  He was going in search of Guy.

In an instant her passivity was gone.  The necessity for action drove her forward.  With a cry she sprang to the door before him, and set herself against it.  She could not let him go with that look of the murderer in his eyes.

“Burke!” she gasped.  “Burke!  What—­are you going to do?”

His lips parted a little, and she saw his teeth.  “You shall hear what I have done—­afterwards,” he said.  “Let me pass!”

But she barred his way.  Her numbed senses were all awake now and quivering.  The very fact of physical effort seemed to have restored to her the power to suffer.  She stood before him, her bosom heaving with great sobs that brought no tears or relief of any sort to the anguish that tore her.

“You—­you can’t pass,” she said.  “Not—­not—­like this!  Burke, listen!  I swear to you—­I swear——­”

“You needn’t,” he broke in.  “A woman’s oath, when it is her last resource, is quite valueless.  I will deal with you afterwards.  Let me pass!”

The command was curt as a blow.  But still she withstood him, striving to still her agitation, striving with all her desperate courage to face him and endure.