When Wyant had left the room, and the house-door had closed on him, Amherst spoke to his wife.
"Come upstairs," he said.
Justine followed him, scarcely conscious where she went, but moving already with a lighter tread. Part of her weight of misery had been lifted with Wyant's going. She had suffered less from the fear of what her husband might think than from the shame of making her avowal in her defamer's presence. And her faith in Amherst's comprehension had begun to revive. He had dismissed Wyant with scorn and horror—did not that show that he was on her side already? And how many more arguments she had at her call! Her brain hummed with them as she followed him up the stairs.
In her bedroom he closed the door and stood motionless, the same heavy half-paralyzed look on his face. It frightened her and she went up to him.
"John!" she said timidly.
He put his hand to his head. "Wait a moment——" he returned; and she waited, her heart slowly sinking again.
The moment over, he seemed to recover his power of movement. He crossed the room and threw himself into the armchair near the hearth.
"Now tell me everything."
He sat thrown back, his eyes fixed on the fire, and the vertical lines between his brows forming a deep scar in his white face.
Justine moved nearer, and touched his arm beseechingly. "Won't you look at me?"