The man rose, stood a moment, his features working with emotion.

"I'm not a praying man," he said. "But if this is so--I'll pray for
you.... It can't hurt you anyway--" he checked himself, stammering,
and the deep colour stained him from his brow to his thick, powerful
neck as he stood fumbling with his portfolio.

But Athalie smilingly put aside the recompense he offered: "It is too
much, Mr. Clements."

"It is worth it to the Company--if the news is true--"

"Then wait until your steamer docks."

"But you say you are certain--"

"Yes, I am: but you are not. My refusal of payment will encourage
you to confidence in me. You have been ill with anxiety, Mr. Clements.
I know what that means. And now your bruised mind cannot realise that
the trouble is ended--that there is no reason now for the deadly fear
that has racked you. But everything will help you now--what I have
told you--and my refusal of payment until your own eyes corroborate
everything I have said."

"I believe you now," he said, staring at her. "I wish to offer you in
behalf of the Company--"

A swift gesture conjured him to silence. She rose, listening intently.
Presently his ears too caught the faint sound, and he turned and
walked swiftly and silently to the open window.