‘What was your reason--come?’ ‘A mere whim.’ ‘I might even believe that, if the woman were handsomer than Cytherea, or if you had been married some time to Cytherea and had grown tired of her.’ ‘And can’t you believe it, too, under these conditions; that I married Cytherea, gave her up because I heard that my wife was alive, found that my wife would not come to live with me, and then, not to let any woman I love so well as Cytherea run any risk of being displaced and ruined in reputation, should my wife ever think fit to return, induced this woman to come to me, as being better than no companion at all?’ ‘I cannot believe it. Your love for Cytherea was not of such a kind as that excuse would imply. It was Cytherea or nobody with you. As an object of passion, you did not desire the company of this Anne Seaway at all, and certainly not so much as to madly risk your reputation by bringing her here in the way you have done. I am sure you didn’t, AEneas.’ ‘So am I,’ he said bluntly. Miss Aldclyffe uttered an exclamation of astonishment; the confession was like a blow in its suddenness. She began to reproach him bitterly, and with tears. ‘How could you overthrow my plans, disgrace the only girl I ever had any respect for, by such inexplicable doings!... That woman must leave this place--the country perhaps. Heavens! the truth will leak out in a day or two!’ ‘She must do no such thing, and the truth must be stifled somehow--nobody knows how. If I stay here, or on any spot of the civilized globe, as AEneas Manston, this woman must live with me as my wife, or I am damned past redemption!’ ‘I will not countenance your keeping her, whatever your motive may be.’ ‘You must do something,’ he murmured. ‘You must. Yes, you must.’ ‘I never will,’ she said. ‘It is a criminal act.’ He looked at her earnestly. ‘Will you not support me through this deception if my very life depends upon it? Will you not?’ ‘Nonsense! Life! It will be a scandal to you, but she must leave this place. It will out sooner or later, and the exposure had better come now.’ Manston repeated gloomily the same words. ‘My life depends upon your supporting me--my very life.’ He then came close to her, and spoke into her ear. Whilst he spoke he held her head to his mouth with both his hands. Strange expressions came over her face; the workings of her mouth were painful to observe. Still he held her and whispered on. The only words that could be caught by Anne Seaway, confused as her hearing frequently was by the moan of the wind and the waterfall in her outer ear, were these of Miss Aldclyffe, in tones which absolutely quivered: ‘They have no money. What can they prove?’ The listener tasked herself to the utmost to catch his answer, but it was in vain. Of the remainder of the colloquy one fact alone was plain to Anne, and that only inductively--that Miss Aldclyffe, from what he had revealed to her, was going to scheme body and soul on Manston’s behalf.