Cyril leaned wearily back in his chair. He was in that state of apathetic calm which sometimes succeeds a violent emotion. Of his wife he had neither seen or heard anything since they parted the night before.

"My lord!"

Cyril started, for he had not noticed Peter's entrance and the suppressed excitement of the latter's manner alarmed him.

"What is the matter now?" he demanded.

"She's 'ere, my lord," replied Peter, dropping his voice till it was almost a whisper.

Cyril sprang from his seat.

"Who?" he cried. "Speak up, can't you?"

"The—the young lady, my lord, as you took charge of on the train. I was just passing through the 'all as she came in and so——"

"Here?" exclaimed Cyril. "Why didn't you show her up at once?"

"But, my lord," objected Peter. "If 'er Ladyship should 'ear——"

"Mind your own business, you fool, or——"

But Peter had already scuttled out of the room.

Cyril waited, every nerve strung to the highest tension. Was he again to be disappointed? Yet if his visitor was really Anita, some new misfortune must have occurred! It seemed to him ages before the door again opened and admitted a small, cloaked figure, whose features were practically concealed by a heavy veil. A glance, however, sufficed to assure him that it was indeed Anita who stood before him. While Cyril was struggling to regain his composure, she lifted her veil. The desperation of her eyes appalled him.

"My God, what is the matter?" cried Cyril, striding forward and seizing her hands.

She gently disengaged herself.

"Lord Wilmersley—" Cyril jumped as if he had been shot. "Yes," she continued, "I know who you are. I also know who I am."

"But who told you?" stuttered Cyril.

"You did," she quietly replied.

"I? What do you mean?"

For the first time the ghost of a smile hovered round her lips.

"You called me Anita! You didn't know that, did you?"

"Did I really? What a blundering fool I have been from first to last!" Cyril exclaimed remorsefully.

"You need not reproach yourself. For some days I had been haunted by fragmentary visions of the past and before I saw you yesterday, I was practically certain that you were not my husband. Oh! It was not without a struggle that I finally made up my mind that you had deceived me. I told myself again and again that you were not the sort of a man who would take advantage of an unprotected girl; yet the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that my suspicions were correct. Then I tried to imagine what reason you could have for posing as my husband, but I could think of none. I was in despair! I didn't know what to do, whom to turn to; for if I could not trust you, whom could I trust? When I heard my name, it was as if a dim light suddenly flooded my brain. I knew who I was. I remembered leaving Geralton, but little by little I realised with dismay that I was still completely in the dark as to who you were, why you had come into my life. It seemed to me that if I could not discover the truth, I should go mad. Then I decided to appeal to Miss Trevor. She was a woman. She looked kind. She would tell me! I was somehow convinced that she did not know who I was, but I said to myself that she would certainly have heard of my disappearance, for I could not believe that Arthur had allowed me to go out of his life without moving heaven and earth to find me."

"You did not know——?"

Anita shook her head.

"No; it was Miss Trevor who told me that Arthur was dead—that he had been murdered." She shuddered convulsively. "You see," she added with pathetic humility, "there are still so many things I do not remember. Even now I can hardly believe that I, I of all people, killed my husband." Great tears coursed slowly down her cheeks.

Cyril ached for pity of her.

"Why take it for granted that you did?" he suggested, partly from a desire to comfort her, but also because there really lingered a doubt in his mind.

"Do you suspect any one else?" she cried.

"Not at present, but——"

She threw up her hands with a gesture of despair. "No, of course not. I must have killed him. But I never meant to—you will believe that, won't you? Those doctors were right, I must have been insane!"

"I am sure you were not. Arthur only intended to frighten you by sending for those men."

"But if I was not crazy, why can I remember so little of what took place on that dreadful night and for some time afterwards?"

"I am told that a severe shock often has that effect," replied Cyril. "But, oh, how I wish you could answer a few questions! I don't want to raise your hopes; but there is one thing that has always puzzled me and till that is explained I for one shall always doubt whether it was you who killed Arthur."

Again the eager light leaped into her eyes.

"Oh, tell me quickly what—what makes you think that I may not have done so?"

Cyril contemplated her a moment in silence. He longed to pursue the topic, but was fearful of the effect it might have on her.

"Yet now that she knows the worst, it may be a relief to her to talk about it," he said to himself. "Yes, I will risk it," he finally decided.

"Do you remember that you put a drug in Arthur's coffee?" he asked out loud.

"Yes, perfectly."

"Then you must have expected to make your escape before he regained consciousness."

"Yes—yes!"

"Then why did you arm yourself with a pistol?"

"I didn't! I had no pistol."

"But if you shot Arthur, you must have had a pistol."

She stared at Cyril in evident bewilderment.

"I could have sworn I had no pistol."

Cyril tried to control his rising excitement. "You knew, however, that Arthur owned one?"

"Yes, but I never knew where he kept it."

"You are sure you have not forgotten——"

"No, no!" she interrupted him. "My memory is perfectly clear up to the time when Arthur seized me and threw me on the floor."

"After that you remember nothing?"

"Oh, yes, I have a vague recollection of a long walk through the dark—of a train—of you—of policemen. But everything is so confused that I can be sure of nothing."

Cyril paced the room deep in thought.

"It seems to me incredible," he said at last, "that if you did not even know where to look for a pistol, you should have found it, to say nothing of having been able to use it, while you were being beaten into unconsciousness by that brute."

But Anita only shook her head hopelessly.

"It is extraordinary, and yet I must have done so. For it has been proved, has it not, that Arthur and I were absolutely alone?"

"Certainly not! How can we be sure that some one was not concealed in the room or did not climb in through the window or—why, there are a thousand possibilities which can never be proved!"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, her whole body trembling with eagerness. "I now remember that I had put all my jewels in a bag, and as that has disappeared, a burglar—" But as she scanned Cyril's face, she paused.

"You had the bag with you at the nursing home. The jewels are safe," he said very gently.

"Then," she cried, "it is useless trying to deceive ourselves any longer—I killed Arthur and must face the consequences."

"What do you mean?"

"I have decided to give myself up."

"You shall not! I will not allow it!" he cried.

"But don't you see that I can't spend the rest of my life in hiding? Think what it would mean to live in daily, hourly dread of exposure? Why, death would be preferable to that."

"Oh, you would be acquitted. There is no doubt of that. That is not what I am afraid of. But the idea of you, Anita, in prison. Why, it is out of the question. A week of it would kill you."

"And if it did, what of it? What has life to offer me now?"

"Give me time. I will find some way of saving you. I will do anything—everything."

"There is nothing you can do," she said, laying her hand gently on his arm. "You have already risked too much. Oh, I can never thank you enough for all your goodness to me!"

"Don't—don't—I would gladly give my life for you!"

"I know it, Cousin Cyril," she murmured, with downcast eyes. A wave of colour swept for a moment over her face.

Cyril shivered. With a mighty effort he strove to regain his composure. Cousin Cyril! Yes, that was what he was to her—that was all he could ever be to her.

"I know how noble, how unselfish you are," she continued, lifting her brimming eyes to his. "But your life is not your own. We must both remember that."

"Both? Anita, is it possible that you——"

"Hush! I have said too much. Let me go," she cried, for Cyril had seized her hand and was covering it with kisses.

At this moment the door-handle rattled. Cyril and Anita moved hurriedly away from each other.

"Inspector Griggs is 'ere, my lord."

Peter's face had resumed its usual stolid expression. He appeared not to notice that his master and the latter's guest were standing in strained attitudes at opposite ends of the room.

"I can't see him." Cyril motioned Peter impatiently away.

"Why didn't you see the inspector?" exclaimed Anita. "This is the best time for me to give myself up."

"No, no! I have a plan——"

He was interrupted by the reappearance of Peter.

"The inspector is very sorry, my lord, but he has to see you at once, 'e says."

"I can't," began Cyril.

"It is no use putting it off," Anita said firmly. "I insist on your seeing him. If you don't, I shall go down and speak to him myself."

Cyril did not know what to do. He could not argue with her before Peter. So turning to the latter, he said:

"You can bring him up in ten minutes—not before. You understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Anita," implored Cyril, as soon as they were again alone, "I beg you not to do this thing. If a plan that I have in mind succeeds, you will be able to leave the country and begin life again under another name."

She hesitated a moment.

"What is this plan?"

He outlined it briefly.

She listened attentively, but when he had finished she shook her head.

"I will not allow you to attempt it. If your fraud were discovered—and it would surely be discovered—your life would be ruined."

"No—" he began.

"I tell you I will not hear of it. No, I am determined to end this horrible suspense. Call the inspector."

"I entreat you at all events to wait a little while longer."

"No, no!"

Cyril was almost frantic. The minutes were slipping past. Was there nothing he could say to turn her from her purpose?

"My wife is here. If she should hear, if she should know—" he began tentatively.

He was amazed at the effect of his words.

"Why didn't you tell me that she was here?" exclaimed Anita with flashing eyes. "Of course, I haven't the slightest intention of involving her in my affairs. I will go at once."

"But you can't leave the house without Griggs seeing you, and he would certainly guess who you are. Stay in the next room till he is gone, that is all I ask of you. Here, quick, I hear footsteps on the stairs."

Cyril had hardly time to fling himself into a chair before the inspector was announced.