“What?” she cried, aghast. “The man has never been your husband!” he repeated firmly and solemnly. “You are mad! We are all mad together, I think! What—under—heaven—do you mean?” she cried, staring at him with starting eyes. “This man, under his true name of Kightly Montgomery, married Jennie Campbell, the daughter of the curate of Medge, in Hantz, more than two years before he ever saw your face. His wife is living now. She is in the drawing-room across the hall. My wife Julia here knows all about this first marriage.” While John Legg spoke his daughter stared as if her eyes would have started from out their sockets. Then suddenly she sprang up and rushed across the room to the side where her brother sat with one leg crossed over the other, his head thrown back, and his hands clasped above it, his face wearing a cynical expression. She paused before him, her eyes flaming. “Cassius!” she said in a voice half choked with raging hatred and longing revenge. “Cassius, do you hear what papa has said? Do you hear that your sister has been deceived, betrayed by the basest of dastards and criminals! Cassius, kill that man! kill him! kill him! kill him!” Clay Legg burst into a low, cynical laugh. “Don’t let us be tragic, whatever we are, Lyddy. It is a pity you have been such a fool as to be so easily taken in. A greater pity that you should have brought discredit on your family. But you are not the first woman who has ever been fooled and laughed at. But as for me getting into a broil with the fellow on your account—no, thank you! It would be unbecoming to the cloth, and get me into trouble with the bishop. And as to killing him! Do you really think I propose to do murder and get myself hanged for your folly? No, thank you, I say again! You had better go and hide yourself down in the greengrocer’s shop at Medge along with papa and stepmamma, while I shall leave the country where my sister’s conduct has made it impossible for me to hold up my head and look honorable men in the face.” While this brutal brother spoke his sister stood before him pallid, staring and biting her lip until the blood flowed. “Shame on you, dastard, to speak to the unhappy girl in such a manner! Leave the room, sir!” said John Legg, rising and opening the library door. “I did not want to come in here at first, and I am very glad to get out,” retorted Clay Legg, with an insulting laugh, as he walked off. John Legg shut the door after him and then turned to his miserable daughter. She had thrown herself down on a sofa, where she lay with her face in her hands. He kneeled beside her and laid his hand on her head, murmuring softly: “You must content yourself with our love and our poor home. These are yours forever. You have tried other love and found it fail you. Paternal love never fails,” he continued, and while he spoke he did not cease to smooth and caress her head with his hand.