“She laughed insultingly when I said the law would speedily decide between us. Perhaps she knew it was an idle threat of mine, for what could the law do to bring again to my arms the woman I had deluded myself into imagining loved me? I was unable to guess what she meant by so boldly denying she had been married to me. In brief, I left her. I lost no time, but hurried back to obtain proof of my marriage.” CHAPTER XXII. A VISION OF FREEDOM. “On my return to our native village, after an absence of some two months,” continued Gilardoni, “I found that the priest, Lucia’s brother, had departed. His successor--a stranger--received me very kindly; but when I revealed to him my painful situation, and asked his advice, he looked perfectly distressed. When I begged him to let me have a copy of the register of my marriage, he told me, with much agitation, that the book had been stolen.” “Stolen!--by her?” exclaimed Paul Desfrayne. “Without a doubt,” replied Gilardoni. “He had not arrived at the time it was purloined. I believe that the night Lucia fled from my home she gained access to the chapel, taking the keys from her brother’s room. It was not until the eve of his departure that he knew anything of the loss, for there had not been any occasion to use the book during those last weeks.” “She had taken this daring means to free herself from your authority, or the legal control you might have exercised over her?” said Paul Desfrayne. “Had she, think you, destroyed the book?” He made the inquiry with a flutter at his heart. “I suppose so,” answered Gilardoni. “It is impossible she would have had the folly to preserve it. The probability--the certainty is, that she burned it.” “What infamy--what wickedness!” cried Paul Desfrayne. Gilardoni shrugged his shoulders. “Her insatiate ambition, her craving for wealth, station, luxury, overmastered all other feelings,” he said. “Then she was free to defy you and all the world?” “Quite so.” “What did you do on making this extraordinary discovery?” “What could I do? No inquiries could enable me to glean the slightest clue to the place whither her brother, the priest, had gone. I sought in every direction my limited resources admitted of for information as to his whereabouts, but, beyond the fact that he had gone to America, could learn nothing.” “America? What part of America?” “I could not ascertain. Some place in South America. Afterward, when I began to move about more freely, I might perhaps have obtained the name of his location, but by that time I had lost all desire of even seeing or hearing of the treacherous woman I had made my wife. I said to myself, even if I succeeded in proving the legality of my union with her, of what avail would it be? She would never return to me: even if she did, she would be like another creature, not the Lucia I had loved--the pretty, innocent girl I fancied loved me.” “Did you see her again?”