He stepped inside. The woman, whom he had seen enter a short while
before, was sitting in a sort of rigid, strained attitude in the far
corner; the man, who had just preceded him, had taken the chair by the
fireplace--they were the only occupants of the room. There was no sound
save his own footsteps--neither of the others looked at him. There was
quiet, a profound stillness--and the softened light from the shuttered
window fell mellow all about, fell like a benediction upon the
simplicity of the few plain articles that the room contained--the round
rag mats upon the white-scrubbed floor; the hickory chairs, severe,
uncushioned; the table, with its little japanned box and book.

Madison's eyes fixed upon the japanned box, as he leaned now, arms
folded, against the wall--a jewel, even in the subdued light, glowed
crimson-warm where it nested on a crumpled bed of bank-notes--a ruby
ring--the last contribution--it must have been the woman who had placed
it there. Madison glanced at her involuntarily--but his thoughts were
far away again in a moment.

Anger and a blind rage of jealousy were gripping him now. _Accident!_
The thought only fanned his fury. Accident! Yes; it was likely--as an
excuse! There would have been an accident all right--leave that to them!
Thornton perhaps wasn't the stamp of man to seek an adventure of that
kind deliberately--perhaps he wasn't--and perhaps he was--you never
could tell--but what difference did that make! _Helena was that kind of
a woman_--though he'd always thought her true to him since he'd known
her--and Thornton, whatever kind of a man he was, wouldn't run away from
her arms, would he?

The red glow from the ruby ring had vanished--the man had risen from his
seat and was placing something in the box on top of the ring--Madison's