“You begin to believe me, I see,” said Mr. Black, growing uncomfortable under the awful stare of her horrified eyes. “You comprehend at last that you are no wife?” “What am I then?” the pale lips whispered. “Don’t look at me in that way, Miss Bird. Really you frighten me. Don’t take this thing too much to heart. Of course it’s a disappointment and all that, but the affair won’t hurt you as if you belonged to a higher class in life. It’s a mere episode, and people will forget it. You can resume your maiden name and occupations and marry some one in your own class, and some day you will smile at this adventure!” “Smile? Ah, God!” Poor Lally cowered in her chair, her small wan face so full of woe and despair that even Craven Black, villain as he was, grew uneasy. There was an appalled look in her eyes, too, that scared him. “You take the thing too hardly, Miss Bird,” he said. “I will provide for you. Rufus must not see you again, and I must have your promise to leave him unmolested. Give me that promise and I will deal liberally with you. You must not follow him into Kent. Should you meet him in the street or elsewhere, you must not speak to him. Do you understand? If you do, he will suffer in prison for your contumacy!” “Oh, Heaven be merciful to me!” wailed the poor disowned young wife. “See him, and not speak to him? Meet him and pass him by, when I love him better than my life? Oh, Mr. Black, in the name of Heaven, I beg you to have pity upon us. I know I am poor and humble. But I love your son. We are of equal station in the sight of God, and my love for Rufus makes me his equal. He loves me still--he loves me--” “Do not deceive yourself with false hopes,” interposed Craven Black. “My son recognizes the invalidity of his marriage, and has succumbed to my will. If you know him well, you know his weak, cowardly nature. He has agreed never to speak to you again, and, moreover, he has promised to marry a young lady for whom I have long intended him--” A sharp, shrill cry of doubt and horror broke from poor, wronged Lally. “It is true,” affirmed Craven Black. The girl uttered no further moan, nor sob. Her wild eyes were tearless; her white lips were set in a rigid and awful smile. “I--I feel as if I were going mad!” she murmured. “You will not go mad,” said Craven Black, with an attempt at airiness. “You are not the first woman who has tried to rise above her proper sphere and fallen back to her own detriment. But, Miss Bird, I must have your promise to leave Rufus alone. You must resume your maiden name, and let this episode be as if it had not been.” “I shall not trouble Rufus,” the poor girl said, her voice quivering. “If I am not his wife, and he cannot marry me, why should I?” “That is right and sensible. Here are fifty pounds which may prove serviceable if you should ever marry,” and Mr. Black handed her a crisp new Bank of England note. The girl crumpled it in her hand and flung it back to him, her eyes flashing.