"Captain Miller," he announced, and retired.
Kathleen stood as if carved from stone, every vestige of color stricken from her. If her life had depended upon it, she could not have turned around.
"Have you no word for me?" asked the familiar voice, and Miller stepped in front of her, his wistful eyes pleading for him. But Kathleen was mute. Slowly, unwillingly his eyes dropped before her level gaze and rested finally on the gold baubles in her hand. "Why do you not wear my ring, Kathleen?"
The question stung her out of the bewildered trance into which his unexpected appearance had thrown her.
"The ring was returned to you for good and sufficient reasons," she said icily. "That you choose to ignore these reasons does not affect the issue. Will you leave this house, or shall I ring for the servant?"
"Kathleen, are you mad?" He whitened to the lips. "Think what you are to me, dearly beloved; your words cut me like a knife."
"Your similes are unfortunate," she stammered, with dry lips. "I do not use knives. I leave that for others, the coroner's jury to the contrary."
"Do you think the coroner's jury influenced my judgment, sweetheart?
Shame—I have more faith than you. I know that you are innocent of
Spencer's death."
"You have every reason to know that I am innocent." Kathleen was thoroughly roused. "It is not a question of faith on your part," significantly. "I see no use in these discussions. It is better that we do not meet. Again I ask you to go—forever."
Without replying he turned and paced the room rapidly, hands in pocket, head bent forward. Kathleen watched him with burning eyes and aching heart. To outward seeming he had the attributes which make for success. What mad blood-lust had made him throw the world away?