“You are right,” replied Lady Pelham. “I have that much trust and faith left. There is not much more to tell you, Mr. Eyrle. My husband wrote to me after the trial. A more insulting letter no man ever penned. He said my own cleverness had saved me this time, and had defeated him; but that he would watch me closely, and he should most certainly renew his application for a divorce. He added that, although the law had not proved me guilty, his opinion was unaltered, and that in consequence of it he should refuse to see or even speak to me again, nor need I hope to receive the least pecuniary assistance from him. That was the man who had wooed me, who had brought me from my own land and my own friends into the midst of strangers; the man I had loved with a passionate love. I declare that I do not think a greater, meaner or more cruel villain lives on the face of the earth. He did not know that I had money, and he deliberately left me to starve. “This was my only friend,” she said, taking Miss Hanson’s hand in hers. “We went together to a pretty little seaside town on the southern coast. No life could be quieter than ours was there, and so far as possible for one who had been cruelly outraged, I was content. But one day I saw there the face of the man who had been employed to watch me--Johnson, the detective--and I fled away. I asked my lawyer to find me some secluded spot in the country, where I could hide myself and never be known or recognized. He found this retreat for me, and I have been happy here. I thought I had a refuge for life; that here, where strange feet so seldom tread--here among trees and flowers, I might live and die in peace. But my enemy has tracked me; he has discovered my refuge, and I must go again. The man whose face I saw this morning is the detective whose evidence was so strong against me--the detective Sir Alfred has engaged to watch me, in the hope of finding out something that will justify him in renewing the action. “I must go!” she cried, wildly wringing her hands. “I must leave the pleasant home where I was learning to be happy; the friend whose value I was just beginning to discover.” “Why must you go?” asked Kenelm. “You do not see; you do not understand. I must go, lest I drag you into the peril that menaces me. That man saw you with me, and you will be the next object of attack.” “If it were not for distressing you, I should say that I wish he would attack me. I would give him a lesson that would last his life, the cowardly villain! I would begin by lashing him like a whipped hound until he cried for mercy. You shall not leave here, Lady Pelham!” She sank back, faint and trembling. “The disgrace,” she said, piteously; “think of the disgrace and the shame!”