"He is certainly alive," Anna declared. "More than that, he arrived to-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with a theatrical start, and claimed me--as his wife. That is why I am here. You must tell me what it all means." "And you?" Annabel exclaimed. "What did you say?" "Well, I considered myself justified in denying it," Anna answered drily. "He produced what he called a marriage certificate, and I believe that nearly every one in the boarding-house, including Mrs. White, my landlady, believes his story. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity--your iniquity, Annabel--but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. Montague Hill." "A--marriage certificate!" Annabel gasped. Anna glanced into her sister's face, and rose to her feet. "Let me get you some water, Annabel. Don't be frightened, dear. Remember----" Annabel clutched her sister's arm. She would not let her move. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. "A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!" she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. "He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands." Anna nodded. "It is the same man, Annabel," she said. "There is no doubt whatever about that. There was the motor accident, too. It is the same man, for he raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. It was you, of course, whom he wanted." "Alive! In London!" Annabel moaned. "Yes. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth." The girl on the lounge drew a long sobbing breath.