“Well, then, that’s all right, and he’s done with. And now, Joan, as we’ve finished supper, you come here like a good wife, and put your arms round my neck and kiss me, and tell me that you love me, and that you hate that man, and are glad that the brat is dead.” Joan sat silent, making no answer. For a few moments he waited as though expecting her to move, then he rose and came towards her with outstretched arms. Seeing his intention, she sprang from her chair and slipped to the other side of the table. “Come,” he said, “don’t run from me, for our courting days are over, and it’s silly in a wife. Are you going to say what I asked you, Joan?” “No,” she answered in a quiet voice, for her instincts overcame her fears; “I have promised to live with you, though you know why I married you, and I’ll do it till it kills me, even if you are mad; but I’ll not tell you a lie, for I never promised to love you, and I hate you now more than ever I did.” Samuel turned deadly white, then poured out a glass of neat brandy and drank it before he answered. “That’s straight, anyway, Joan. But it’s queer that while you won’t lie to me of one thing you ain’t above doing it about another. P’raps you didn’t know it, but I was there to-day when you had your ‘few words’ with your lover. He never saw me, but I followed him from Bradmouth step for step, though sometimes I had to hide behind trees and hedges to do it. You see I thought he would lead me to you; and so he did, for I saw you kissing and hugging —yes, you who belong to me—I saw you holding that man in your arms. Mad, do you say I am? Yes, I went mad then, though mayhap if you’d done what I asked you just now I might have got over it, for I felt my brain coming right; but now it is going again, going, going! And, Joan, since you hate me so bad, there is only one thing left to do, and that is——” And with a wild laugh he dashed towards the mantelpiece to reach down the gun which hung above it.