Again there fell a silence. The clock in the corner ticked on with melancholy regularity, the logs hissed and spluttered viciously; but the two men sat in utter stillness, both bowed as if beneath a pressing burden.
One of them moved at last, stretched out a bony, trembling hand, laid it on the other's shoulder.
"Piers boy," Sir Beverley said, with slow articulation, "believe me, there's not a woman on this earth worth grizzling about. They're liars and impostors, every one."
Piers started a little, then with a very boyish movement, he laid his cheek against the old bent fingers. "My dear sir," he said, "but you're a woman-hater!"
"I know," said Sir Beverley, still in that heavy, fateful fashion. "And I have reason. I tell you, boy,—and I know,—you would be better off in your coffin than linked to a woman you seriously cared for. It's hell on earth—hell on earth!"
"Or paradise," muttered Piers.
"A fool's paradise, boy; a paradise that turns to dust and ashes." Sir Beverley's voice quivered suddenly. He withdrew his hand to fumble in an inner pocket. In a moment he stretched it forth again with a key lying on the palm.
"Take that!" he said. "Open that bureau thing behind you! Look in the left-hand drawer! There's something there for you to see."
Piers obeyed him. There was that in Sir Beverley's manner that silenced all questioning. He pulled out the drawer and looked in. It contained one thing only—a revolver.
Sir Beverley went on speaking, calmly, dispassionately, wholly impersonally. "It's loaded—has been loaded for fifty years. But I never used it. And that not because my own particular hell wasn't hot enough, but just because I wouldn't have it said that I'd ever loved any she-devil enough to let her be my ruin. There were times enough when I nearly did it. I've sat all night with the thing in my hand. But I hung on for that reason, till at last the fire burnt out, and I didn't care. Every woman is the same to me now. I know now—and you've got to know it too—that woman is only fit to be the servant, not the mistress, of man,—and a damn treacherous servant at that. She was made for man's use, and if he is fool enough to let her get the upper hand, then Heaven help him, for he certainly won't be in a position to help himself!"