She paused. She was a woman of not very keen perceptions, but she
realised that if she were to proceed with the offer which was half
framed in her mind, the man by her side, with his, to her outlook,
distorted sense of honour, would become her enemy. She shrugged her
shoulders, and turning towards him, held out her hand.

"It is the end, then," she said. "Well, Andrew, I did my best according
to my lights, and I failed. Will you shake hands?"

He shook his head.

"I cannot, Stella. Let us agree to part here. We know all there is to
be known of one another, and we shall be able to say good-by without
regret."

She drifted slowly away from him. He watched her figure pass in and out
among the trees. She was unashamed, perhaps relieved,--probably, he
reflected, as he watched her enter the house, already making her plans
for a more successful future. He turned away and looked downwards. The
darkness seemed, if possible, to have become a little more intense, the
moaning of the sea more insistent. Little showers of white spray
enlaced the sombre rocks. The owl came back from his mysterious
journey, hovered for a moment over the cliff and entered his secret
home. Behind him, the lights in the house went out, one by one.
Suddenly he felt a grip upon his shoulder, a hot breath upon his cheek.
It was Stella, returned dishevelled, her lace scarf streaming behind,
her eyes lit with horror. "Andrew!" she cried. "It came over me--just
as I entered the house! What have you done with Anthony?"