She pulled off her gloves. She pulled them off in that nervous way by which you knew that she was quite unconscious of her action. Then her lip quivered. I felt the struggle in her heart to keep back the tears. In a vain way I strove with her, too. For what should I have done had she wept then? In all conscience it had been difficult enough on the cliffs at Ballysheen; but now, when I knew how much she was to me, when I saw quite clearly from what her coming had saved me, tears in her eyes then would have been my certain undoing. For undoubtedly it was Clarissa who had saved me. But for her, I should by this time have been set forth upon my great adventure. It was so utterly impossible now. Some woman at last had come to me in trouble. Some woman! It was the very woman in all the world whose trouble I would most easily have borne.
When I saw the tightness set firm upon her lips once more, for there was well a moment while she struggled with its quivering, then I leant forward. I knew I must drag the story from her; so I felt my way with guessing, half knowing what had happened, leaving her, in little broken syllables, to tell me all the rest.
"Come," said I, gently, "you must tell me. Has he been cruel to you?"
She bent her head in silence.
"But how? How cruel? In what way? Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? When did you see him last?"
"Three weeks ago."
"Where?"
"Where he lived."