"No, Peter, no—oh, God!—you do not think it—you can't—you mustn't. I was alone—waiting for you, and the hours passed—and you didn't come—and I was nervous and frightened, and full of awful fancies. I thought I heard some one—creeping round the cottage. Once I thought some one peered in at the lattice, and once I thought some one tried the door. And so—because I was frightened, Peter, I took that—that, and held it in my hand, Peter. And while I sat there—it seemed more than ever—that somebody was breathing softly—outside the door. And so, Peter, I couldn't bear it any more—and opened the lattice—and fired—in the air—I swear it was in the air. And I stood there—at the open casement—sick with fear, and trying to pray for you—because I knew he had come back—to kill you, Peter, and, while I prayed, I heard another shot—not close, but faint—like the snapping of a twig, Peter—and I ran out—and—oh, Peter!—that is all—but you believe—oh!—you believe, don't you, Peter?" While she spoke, I had slipped the pistol into my pocket, and now I held out my hands to her, and drew her near, and gazed into the troubled depths of her eyes. "Charmian!" said I, "Charmian—I love you! and God forbid that I should ever doubt you any more." So, with a sigh, she sank in my embrace, her arms crept about my neck, and our lips met, and clung together. But even then—while I looked upon her beauty, while the contact of her lips thrilled through me—even then, in my mind, I saw the murderous pistol in her hand—as I had seen it months ago. Indeed, it almost seemed that she divined my thought, for she drew swiftly back, and looked up at me with haggard eyes. "Peter?" she whispered, "what is it—what is it?" "Oh, Charmian!" said I, over and over again, "I love you—I love you." And I kissed her appealing eyes, and stayed her questioning lips with my kisses. "I love you more than my life—more than honor—more than my soul; and, because I so love you—to-night you must leave me—" "Leave you?—ah no, Peter—no—no, I am your wife—I must stay with you—to suffer and share your troubles and dangers—it is my right—my privilege. Let us go away together, now—anywhere—anywhere, only let us be together—my—husband." "Don't!" I cried, "don't! Do you think it is so easy to remain here without you—to lose you so soon—so very soon? If I only loved you a little less! Ah! don't you see—before the week is out, my description will be all over England; we should be caught, and you would have to stand beside me in a court of justice, and face the shame of it—" "Dear love!—it would be my pride—my pride, Peter, to face them all—to clasp this dear hand in mine—" "Never!" I cried, clenching my fists; "never! You must leave me; no one must know Charmian Brown ever existed—you must go!"