must not ask questions, or leave the house except in her company. She got me these clothes, and treated me kindly enough, taking me out twice. But she would not talk, and this morning, while she was still asleep, I dressed and slipped out. I was mad to be in the open air after living so long shut up at the Chase. Then, too, I knew you had come to London, and you had told me you always stayed somewhere near Charing Cross and the Strand. So I made my way here, and just as though you had dropped from the clouds, I found you. Why, Hilary, you haven’t yet said you are glad to see me.” She had evidently again forgotten the tie which bound her to his friend. With an effort, he resolved to recall it to her. “What is the address where you are now staying?” he asked. “Duchess Street, Oxford Street. Mrs. Tait thinks I haven’t noticed it painted up, but I have.” “Stella,” he said, gravely and impressively, “your husband, Lord Carthew, is at Duchess Street at this very moment searching for you. Some detectives whom he employed to find you, after you had jumped out of the train on your wedding journey, set him on your track. When he comes back to my hotel, what can I say to him?” She sprang from her seat, white and trembling. “Hilary!” she said, “I can see you believe I am mad. But do I look or speak like a mad woman? Is it possible that I could do all these things of which you tell me and yet remember nothing?” “I cannot say,” he answered. “On my soul, I understand nothing of the business. But, my dear child, you must see plainly what my duty is. Carthew confided in me; I cannot act against him in this.” “Hilary!” she exclaimed again, while a hunted, terrified look came into her eyes, “you could not be so cruel as to give me up to him, after all I have suffered for your sake! If--if Lord Carthew’s tale and that notice in the paper are true, then I am mad, quite, quite mad. And if I am sane, I would rather die than be Lord Carthew’s wife. I have no friend in the world but you; for after what you have told me, I cannot tell whether Sarah Carewe is my friend or--my worst enemy. I have told you that I meant to kill myself rather than be married to any one but you; and yet you would give me up to this man, whose wife I will never be. I would rather die!” She spoke in low tones of passionate intensity, standing before him with clasped hands and tears shining in her eyes. Very pale, very slender and fragile she looked, in her shabby and ill-fitting clothes, which yet could not wholly conceal the graceful outlines of her tall, slim figure. The flush of pleasure which had tinged her cheeks at first sight of him had died away and given place to a look of absolute despair. As he looked at her, Hilary’s resolution was taken. Rising from the bench, he drew her hand through his arm.