"Mad? Perhaps I am. I know I shall be before long," groaned the tortured man. "You took my name--whether you had a right to do so or not, you know--and you cast it back in scorn, as though it were a small thing for a man to give his name to a woman." "You _are_ mad!" repeated the woman. "How dare you say I married you?" Ryder staggered back against the door. He glared at her. "You--you---- Do you deny it? You may have another husband; but you married me. Either you are my legal wife, or you have committed a crime which the American laws shall punish. See!" He tore open his coat, dragged out his wallet, and displayed the marriage certificate before her startled eyes. "Deny that name--deny that signature--if you can!" She bent forward, devouring the paper with her gaze. Then suddenly she caught her breath and, with one hand at her bosom as though to stifle its throbbing, she arose to her full height and faced him. "I do deny--both. That is not my handwriting. And my name is _Rose_ Mont," she said. The shout of demoniacal laughter that burst from Ryder's lips and the contortion of his face were terrible. "Do you think _that_ will work, woman? Do you think you can dodge the law on so slight a pretext as a false name and disguised handwriting? You are my wife, and by heaven I'll take you from this place by force if you will not go with me peaceably!" CHAPTER XXII "WHO IS MY WIFE?" Miss Mont sank slowly into her chair, still staring at the writhing features of the man who claimed to be her husband. Insanity had been her first thought; but the agony and passion displayed by John Ryder taught her that he was suffering as no maniac could suffer. His words had the ring of truth that could not be ignored. He claimed her as his bride, and so confident was his belief in her identity as the woman he had married that her own counter knowledge was almost shaken. "Mr. Ryder," she said at last and in almost a whisper, "sit down on that trunk yonder. Let me talk to you. Yes, sit down! You are between me and the door; I cannot escape." Her quiet speech helped to bring him to his senses. He had been threatening her with the vehemence he might have used to a man. Red shame dyed his cheek. His manner suddenly subsided. He obeyed her. "Mr. Ryder, I am not your wife," she said slowly, looking at him with her truthful eyes. She was the woman now she had seemed aboard the _Minnequago_. "No! I do not mean that," as she saw a wicked expression come into his face. "I have neither intentionally, nor unintentionally wronged you. "Had I been convinced that I could--could learn to love you as a wife should and had married you, I would have done nothing which you in any way could construe as an attempt to bring disgrace upon your name. "Wait! You are in a maze yet. You believe I am splitting hairs. I am not." She leaned forward and raised her voice for emphasis. "I am not the woman whom you married."