Moreover, there was still that about him, notwithstanding his words, that made her afraid to yield a single inch of ground lest by some hidden means he should sweep her altogether from her precarious foothold.

Even in the silence, she felt that he was doing battle with her, and she did not dare to face him.
With a childish gesture of abandonment, she dropped into a chair and laid her head upon her arms.
"Oh, please go away!" she besought him weakly.

"I am so tired--so tired." But Ratcliffe did not move.

He stood looking down at her, at the black hair that clustered about her neck, at the bowed, despairing figure, the piteous, clenched hands.
A little clock in the room began to strike in silvery tones, and he glanced up.

The next instant he bent and laid a bony hand upon her two clasped ones.
"Can't you decide ?" he said.