"Ah!" cried Gertrude joyously. "Sometimes," continued the woman, as if she enjoyed torturing her rival; "lately he has called himself John Huish--since he has neglected me so much to go to clubs and chambers." "Oh!" sighed Gertrude. "But I never complained." "I cannot bear this," moaned Gertrude to herself; and then, fighting down the emotion, she crept upon her knees to the woman and clasped her hand. "Let me go," she moaned. "Let me get away from here, and I will bless you. Ask anything of me you like, and it shall be yours, only get me away." "You don't want to go," said the woman mockingly. "It's all a sham." "How can I prove to you that I mean it?" cried Gertrude. "I don't know; I only know that if I did he would kill me." "Oh no, no; he dare not touch you. Come with me, then, and I'll see that you are not hurt." "Are you in earnest? Better not. I ought to be in bed now--sick almost to death. Better stay," she said mockingly. "This may kill me. I hope it will, and then you can be happy--with him!" "No! no! no!" cried Gertrude wildly. "Never again. I did not know. It is too dreadful! Woman, if you hope for mercy at the last, help me to get away before I see that man again." "That man? that man?" "No, no," cried Gertrude wildly. "I cannot explain. It is too dreadful! He is not my husband. He is like him, but he is not him. I don't know what I am saying. I cannot explain it. Only for God's sake get me away from here, or I shall go mad!" The woman stood gazing at her piercingly as Gertrude cast herself at her feet. "You do mean it, then?" she said at last. "Mean it? Yes. I have been deceived--cheated. This man is--Oh! I don't know--I don't know," she cried wildly; "but pray help me, and let me go!" The woman gazed down at her for a few moments longer, and then said huskily, "Come!" Gertrude caught at the hand held forth to her, and suffered herself to be led out on to the landing, and then slowly down the dark stairs of the old City mansion in which they were, till they stood in the narrow hall, where, reaching up, the woman thrust her hand into a niche and drew out a key, and then set down and blew out the light. Gertrude stood trembling, and she clung to the hand which touched her. "Afraid of the dark?" "No, no! But pray make haste; he may hear." "No. He hears nothing after he has taken so much brandy. He was wild with the other lodgers for interfering; and when he is wild he drinks till he goes to sleep, and when he wakes--" She did not finish her sentence, but led her companion to the door, unlocked it, and the next moment the cool dank air of the night was blowing upon Gertrude's cheek, as she dashed out into the narrow street, flying like some hunted beast, in the full belief that the steps she heard were those of the man who could not be the husband whom she loved. Volume 3, Chapter VII. BETWEEN SISTERS.