"I am your wife! No matter what he charges, I am your wife; do not forget that, Jesse!" "And no doubt you pretended that you had swallowed poison, just to entrap him in your toils!" cried Edmund Clarke scornfully, while Devereaux, looking at her as she clung to him, exclaimed: "Is this true, Roma?" Her eyes flashed with defiance as she answered, rising, quickly: "Yes, it is true. I only swallowed some colored water to frighten you all, and to make you marry me, because I loved you so dearly! You must forgive me, my darling husband, for you cannot alter anything now!" He recoiled from her touch with loathing, and Mr. Clarke broke in: "Do not trouble yourself over her words, Jesse, for she has no claim upon you. She has already a living husband--one whom she tried to murder, to put him out of her way, but he is here to testify to the truth of my words." Through the open door stepped the wronged husband with a manly air, saying to startled Roma: "Every man's hand is against you but mine, Roma, and even my heart recoils at your wickedness; but I love you still, and if you will repent of your sins and promise to lead a better life, I will take you back, and our old dream of a dramatic life shall be fulfilled." It was a noble touch in the life of a man who had not been very good, but who was at least Roma's superior in everything, and she could not help but recognize it. Beaten, foiled, in everything, she turned to the man she had wronged, saying: "It is worth all the rest to find such a constant heart." She laughed mirthlessly, mockingly, and left the room, scowling as she passed at Granny Jenks, huddled against the door, holding back her skirts from contact with her granddaughter, while she muttered: "I don't love you any more, and I wish never to see you again. I am going back to Liane." CHAPTER XXXI. WHEN THE CLOUDS ROLLED BY. It was Christmas morning at Cliffdene, and snow lay deep upon the ground, while the boom of the sea, lashed into fury by howling winter winds, filled the air, but within all was light, and warmth, and joy. A few days ago the Clarkes had come home, with their daughter Liane restored to health after weary weeks of illness and nervous prostration from her terrible beating at Granny Jenks' hands and the subsequent exposure in the cold cellar. They called her Liane still, because the name of Roma was associated with so many unpleasant things that they had no wish for her to bear it. Mr. Clarke had spent a thrilling hour making clear to his wife all the happenings of the past eighteen years, but she had borne the shock better than he expected. Her love for Roma, never as strong as the maternal love, though carefully fostered, died an instant death when she heard the story of the girl's terrible crimes. Bitter tears she shed, indeed, but they were for her own daughter's sufferings in those cruel years while she had been kept back from her own.