Both men lowered their eyes. They dared not face each other for a moment.
The fire crackled and the clock ticked. Every sense was sharpened and quickened in Dale until it was painful.
Objects in the room stood out clearly to his uncaring sight; the snap of the fire, the tick of the clock smote like separate reports upon his hearing; and while he lived he was to recall, when he smelled burning pine, this tense moment. Presently he rose unsteadily and reached out for his coat and hat like a blind man.
"Well, Drew," he said, making an effort to speak evenly, "there doesn't seem to be anything more to say. I am going. Good-bye."
"Dale—where are you going?" Drew was beside him.
"I'm going to try and find—Joyce Lauzoon."
"She—has—gone—to—her husband! He sent for her—and she went." Drew spoke with an effort; but before the look on John Dale's face, he staggered back. Hopeless rage, defeated desire blanched and fired in turn the strong features. Then without a word Dale strode from the room.