"I have forgiven so much," she said, "and would forgive again--anything but this! So young, and handsome, and fair! He'll find her again, and bring her back, and then I may go. Why didn't he kill me outright?" she added bitterly, as she went slowly to the lamp, took it up, and held it so that she could gaze at her bruised face in the glass. It was a handsome face, but bitterly vindictive now, as she gazed at the bruises and an ugly cut upon her lip. "Better have killed me for letting her go. He hates me now. Yes," she said sadly; "better do it at once--better do it." But she crossed the room again with a sigh to open the door and listen, habit mastering anger and bitterness, as a look of eagerness and longing such as had often been there before came into her face. It was the old anxious look with which she had watched for him who did not come. Then, by degrees, the look faded out, and her brow contracted as bitter thoughts prevailed. It was getting late now, and she lit the candles in an automatic fashion, pausing at intervals to think. Then, going to the little sideboard, she took out a glass and the spirit decanter, half full of brandy, placing both on the sideboard ready before seating herself at the open window to listen. Nine o'clock struck, then ten, and the half-hour had chimed, but still he did not return. There were a couple of figures, one at either end of the lane, but they did not attract her attention, and she still sat listening till a faint noise below made her start up and hurry to the door. Yes, at last. Someone coming up the stairs two steps at a time. The door was flung open, and her husband entered hastily, looking pale and disordered. There was so jaded and despairing an aspect in the man's eyes that the woman's sympathies were aroused, her troubles were for the moment forgotten, and she laid her hand upon his arm. "Back at last, John dear!" she said tenderly. "Are you tired?" And then something in his face startled her. "John dear!" she cried. "Curse John!" he cried. "There, I have done with that masquerading. Here, quick--my little bag--a change of things!" "Are you hurt?" she cried anxiously. "Do you hear me?" he cried, and struck at her savagely with the back of his hand. She staggered back with a low moan, but sprang to him the next moment, and threw her arms round his neck. "John dearest," she whispered, in a low, frantic tone, "for God's sake tell me you are sorry you did that. For your own sake ask me to forgive you; it makes me mad!" "Curse you, keep away!" he cried, flinging her off; but she staggered back, and tried to nestle in his breast, only to be flung off again. "Get me my clean things--quick!" "No, no, not yet!" she cried, falling upon her knees and grasping at his hands. "John, dear John, one kind word; say one gentle word to me, pray, oh, pray!" "Are you mad?" he said savagely, as he tried to release his hand.