“And do you want me to say I doubt you?” cried she, with almost a scream. “Do you want me to humble myself to ask, Am I to be forsaken?--in plain words, Is there one word of truth in this story of the marriage? Why don't you answer me? Speak out, sir, and deny it, as you would deny the charge that called you a swindler or a coward. What! are you silent? Is it the fear of what is to come after that appalls you? But I absolve you from the charge, Trafford. You shall not be burdened by me. My mother-in-law will take me. She has offered me a home, and I have accepted it. There, now, you are released of that terror. Say that this tale of the marriage is a lie,--a foul lie,--a lie invented to outrage and insult me; say that, Lionel--just bow your head, my own--What! It is not a lie, then?” said she, in a low, distinct voice,--“and it is I that have been deceived, and you are--all that they called you.” “Listen to me, Lucy.” “How dare you, sir?--by what right do you presume to call me Lucy? Are you such a coward as to take this freedom because my husband is not here to resent it? Do not touch me, sir. That old man, in whose house I am, would strike you to the ground if you insulted me. It was to see him I came here,--to see him, and not you. I came here with a message from my husband to Sir Brook Fossbrooke--and not to listen to the insulting addresses of Major Trafford. Let me go, sir; and at your peril touch me with a finger. Look at yourself in that glass yonder,--look at yourself, and you will see why I despise you.” And with this she arose and passed out, while with a warning gesture of her hand she motioned that he should not follow her. CHAPTER XXIII. TO REPORT It was long after midnight when Mrs. Sewell reached the Priory. She dismissed her cab at the gate lodge, and was slowly walking up the avenue when Sewell met her. “I was beginning to think you did n't mean to come back at all,” cried he, in a voice of mingled taunt and irritation,--“it is close on one o'clock.” “He had dined in town, and I had to wait till he returned,” said she, in a low, faint tone. “You saw him, however?” “Yes, we met at the station.” “Well, what success?” “He gave me some money,--he promised me more.” “How much has he given you?” cried he, eagerly. “Two hundred, I think; at least I thought he said there was two hundred,--he gave me his pocket-book. Let me reach the house, and have a glass of water before you question me more. I am tired,--very tired.” “You seem weak, too; have you eaten nothing?” “No, nothing.” “There is some supper on the table. We have had guests here. Old Lendrick and his daughter came up with Beattie. They are not above half an hour gone. They thought to see the old man, but Beattie found him so excited and irritable he advised them to defer the visit.” “Did you see them?”