She reached the floor above, and went toward her room. He felt
strangled, speechless. There was a sense of terror too in the thought
that his nerve, the nerve on which he had counted so much, was going to
fail him.

"Olivia!"

His voice was so sharp that she hurried back to the top of the stairs.

"What is it, papa? Aren't you well?"

It was the sight of her face, anxious and suddenly white, peering down
through the half-light of the hall that finally unmanned him. With a
heart-sick feeling he turned away from the stairway.

"Yes; I'm all right. I only wanted you to know that ... that ... I shall
be working rather late. You mustn't be disturbed ... if you hear me
moving about."

He would have upbraided himself more bitterly for his cowardice had he
not found an excuse in the thought that, after all, there would be time
in the morning. It was best that she should have the refreshment of the
night. The one thing important was that she should not have the shock of
learning from others on the morrow that he was not coming back--that he
was going to Singville. Should he go there at all, he was determined to
stay. Since he had no fight to put up, it was better that his going
should be once for all. The thought of weeks, of months, perhaps, of
quasi-freedom, during which he should be parading himself "on bail," was
far more terrible to him than that of prison. He must prepare her for