All the same he was afraid.  With every step he took he seemed to climb farther and farther into the midst of fear.  It was all around him—­in the close, airless dark and in the deathly quiet light that came from the open doorway overhead.  What was waiting for him there?  His father, risen unimaginably loathsome from the grave?  For he could never be in the dark without thinking of his father.  Or something else?  At least he knew that the never-really-believed-in time of peace was over and that the monster which had lain hidden and quiescent so long was crouched somewhere close to him, ready to leap out.

Christine sat by the table under the light.  There was a drawer beside her which she had evidently torn out of its place in panic-stricken haste, for the floor about her was littered with its contents—­gloves and handkerchiefs and ribbons.  She held a shabby, empty purse in her limp hand, and it was as though she had sat down because she had no longer the strength to stand.  He had not known before how grey her hair was.  Her face was grey, too, and withered like a dead leaf.

He stood hesitating in the doorway and they looked at one another.  There was no question of punishment or reproof between them.  It was the old days over again when they had clung together in the face of a common peril—­helpless and horribly afraid.  She tried to smile and push the empty purse out of sight as though it were of no account at all.  And all at once he was ashamed and miserable with pity.

“I was beginning to get quite worried about you.”  He could hardly hear her.  “Where have you been, Robert?”

He answered heavily, not moving from the doorway where he hung like a sullen shadow.

“At the Circus.”

“Is there a Circus?  Why didn’t Mrs. Withers tell me?  If I had known that I shouldn’t have worried.  I expect you were there yesterday too—­and the day before, weren’t you, dear?”

He nodded, and she began to bundle everything back into the drawer, as though at last a tiresome question had been satisfactorily settled.

“I knew it was all right.  Mr. Ricardo was here this afternoon.  He thought I was ill—­he thought you had told him you couldn’t come because I was ill.  I said I had had to stay at home—­it was easier—­I knew there had been a mistake.”

The old life again.  They were confederates and she had lied to shield him even from herself.  She was looking past him as though she saw someone standing behind him in the dark passage.  He was so sure of it that he wanted to turn round.  But he did not dare.

“I wish I’d known.  We—­we might have gone together.  I used to be very fond of a good circus.  Did they have elephants?  Robert—­Robert, dear, why didn’t you tell me about it?”