Rufus turned slowly toward the girlish figure in black, his gaze seeking the shopman. A low, strange cry broke from Lally’s lips. Rufus heard it and looked at her. Her heavy crape vail was thrown back over her bonnet, and her small face framed in the heavy black folds was so white, so eager, so piteous, that Rufus thought it a vision--an optical illusion--a freak of his imagination. He recoiled in a species of terror. “Rufus! Oh, Rufus!” cried the deserted young wife in a wild, involuntary appeal. Mrs. Peters heard the name, and comprehended the identity of the young man. She came and stood by Lally’s side, warning off Rufus by her harsh face and angry eyes. “Come, my dear,” she said, “let us go.” “Rufus! Oh, Rufus!” moaned the poor young wife again, seeing nothing but the anguished, horrified face of her husband, hearing nothing but his quick breathing. Rufus slowly passed his hand over his forehead. “My God!” he murmured. “Lally’s face! Lally’s voice!” Mrs. Peters took the hand of her young mistress, attempting to lead her from the shop, which but for them and the amazed shopman was happily deserted. But Lally stared at her young husband in a species of fascination, and he returned her gaze with one of horror and amazement, and the old woman’s efforts were fruitless. “My dear, my dear!” whispered Peters anxiously. “Come with me. Come, my darling! He abandoned you. Pluck up a spirit, Miss Lally, and leave him alone!” Lally slowly arose and moved toward the door, but coming quite near to her stupefied young husband. “It is I--Lally,” she said, with the simplicity of a child, her great black eyes staring at him piteously. “I am not dead, Rufus. It was not I who was drowned in the Thames. I know that you are going to be married again to a great heiress, and I hope you will be happy with her; but she will never love you as I loved you. Good-bye, dear--good-bye forever!” With a great sob Lally flitted past him, and hurried out to the waiting carriage. Rufus dashed after her, wild-eyed and wild-visaged; but Mrs. Peters grasped him vigorously by the arm, detaining him. “None of that!” she ejaculated harshly. “I won’t have my young lady tampered with. You shan’t follow her. You’ve broken her heart already.” “She’s mine--my wife!” cried Rufus, still amazed, but in an ecstasy of joy and rapture. “I tell you she’s mine. I thought she was dead. I am not engaged to an heiress. I won’t marry one. I want my wife--” “You’re too late, sir,” said Mrs. Peters grimly. “You should have made up your mind to that effect at the time you abandoned her.” “But I was compelled to abandon her! God alone knows the remorse and anguish I have known since I supposed her dead. I love her better than all the world. How is it that she lives? Why does she wear mourning? Woman let me go to her!” And he tried to break from the detaining grasp of Peters.