"Who was it?" Her voice rose triumphantly.
Again there was a long silence. Jim turned his back. He was fighting against the fear which possessed him. He was afraid of himself. Emotions of which he had never before been conscious filled his heart—war against ideals, principles and faiths to which he had been brought up.
"I shall never say who was guilty."
Marjorie gave vent to a little cry: a cry of joy. She took her brother's hands, both of them, and covered them with kisses. Roughly he snatched them away and stood back.
"I've given you my message—though it has come too late. I don't know what Despard has done for you, but don't trust him, Marjorie. Warn father.... When I said just now that I had had no intention of escaping it was true. But now I have escaped I don't mean to go back. If you won't help me, if the man who loves you does his duty and gives me up, then I shall fight for it."
He backed across the room as he spoke, and gazed around as if seeking for some weapon.
Marjorie stepped towards her lover and held out her arms. "Jim!"
He shook his head, and crossing the room unlocked the door.
"Jim! What are you going to do?"
"I must do my duty."