"Yes," she replied. "It is your own Adéle, the little girl you vowed to love; Adéle whom you married two years ago in the little French village in the _Pas de Calais_. Oh, Arthur! how could you desert me?" "I--I never married you," he answered, stammering a little. "Indeed you did." "It was a mock marriage." "The good _curé_ who united us is alive. He will bear evidence that I am your wife. I, Adéle Bellefontaine, am in reality Lady Maltravers." "It is false." "Oh! do not repudiate me, for, darling, I love you," she pleaded. "If you have forgotten me, I can never forget you." "How did you find me out?" "I read an account of your duel in the papers; they said you were ill and suffering; I walked fifty miles to come and nurse you, because I was too poor to ride." "You shall have money to go home again, foolish girl," said Maltravers. "I do not want it. All I ask is your love," replied Adéle. "Let me have the sweet privilege of waiting upon you, Arthur. I will be your servant, your slave. Do not, for heaven's sake, drive me from you." Maltravers was ill at ease and could not disguise his agitation. Two years before, as the poor girl had truly said, he had met her in a secluded village, where he was fishing. He had married the poor peasant girl and then basely deserted her. Some letters he left behind revealed his true name, and at the first chance Adéle had come to him, to beg once more for that love for which she was pining. It was impossible for him to acknowledge her claim or recognize her before his friends, and for a moment he did not know what to do. His mind, however, was soon made up; he would threaten her, deny her story, and drive her from him. "Rise," he exclaimed; "you are an impudent impostor. If you do not instantly quit this room I will have you arrested. It is the correctional tribunal which should deal with such creatures as you." Adéle rose to her feet and clasped her head with her hands as if her throbbing brain would burst. Could she believe the evidence of her senses? "My God!" she cried. "He sends me away! Does he not know that I have a heart which will break? Are a man's vows traced upon the sand or written in water when he tells a woman he loves her?" "Go," continued Maltravers, sternly. For a minute she was completely overwhelmed and stood like one in a dream. "Yes, I will go," she said in a choked voice. "Heaven knows whither! The folks in my village shall never see me again, or know my shame. I said I would go after my husband and bring him back. My father and mother were to prepare a _fête_. That is over. I have been gathering Dead Sea fruit. It has turned to dust in my hand. I trusted a bad man and my punishment is more than I can bear. Yet, the water is near, and there is one refuge for the weary and heart-broken. Farewell, Arthur. May God forgive you, as does your Adéle."