She sat bowed like an old woman.  He had seen!  And instead of being angry on his own account, he was concerned only on hers.  She was his own beloved wife.  He was—­hers to take or leave!

Suddenly a great sob broke from her.  She laid her face down upon the note she held....

There came a low knock at the door that divided her room from the one adjoining.  She started swiftly up as one caught in a guilty act.

“Can I come in?” Field said.

She made some murmured response, and he opened the dividing door.  A moment he stood on the threshold; then he came quietly forward.  He carried her cloak upon his arm.

He deposited it upon the back of a chair, and came to her.  “I hoped you would be in bed,” he said.

“I am trying—­to get warm,” she muttered almost inarticulately.

“Have you had a hot drink since your accident?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “I told West—­I couldn’t.”

He turned and rang the bell.  He must have seen his note tightly grasped in her hand, but he made no comment upon it.

“Sit down again!” he said gently, and, stooping, poked the sinking fire into a blaze.

She obeyed him almost automatically.  After a moment he laid down the poker, and drew the chair with her in it close to the fender.  Then he picked up the cloak and put it about her shoulders, and finally moved away to the door.

She heard him give an order to a servant, and sat nervously awaiting his return.  But he did not come back to her.  He went outside and waited in the passage.

There ensued an interval of several minutes, and during that time she sat crouched over the fire, holding her cloak about her, and shivering, shivering all over.  Then the door which he had left ajar closed quietly, and she knew that he had come back into the room.

She drew herself together, striving desperately to subdue her agitation.

He came to her side and stooped over her.  “I want you to drink this,” he said.

She glanced up at him swiftly, and as swiftly looked away.  “Don’t bother about me!” she said.  “I—­am not worth it.”

He passed the low words by.  “It’s only milk with a dash of brandy,” he said.  “Won’t you try it?”

Very reluctantly she took the steaming beverage from him and began to drink.

He remained beside her, and took the cup from her when she had finished.

“Now,” he said, “wouldn’t it be wise of you to go to bed?”

She made a movement that was almost convulsive.  She had his note still clasped in her hand.

After a moment, without lifting her eyes, she spoke.  “Percival, why did you—­what made you—­write this?”

“I owed it to you,” he said.

“You—­meant it?” she said, with an effort.

“Yes.  I meant it.”  He spoke with complete steadiness.

“But—­but—­” She struggled with herself for an instant; then, “Oh, I’ve got to tell you!” she burst forth passionately.  “I’m—­very wicked.”