“Hush, my dear! What an inference! To esteem me capable of such a blind villainy! You’re still a very beautiful woman, Georgie.” “Will you leave me now?” “It would be safer, perhaps. God bless you, Georgie!” He was going, when she ran to him and touched him for the first time. I could see her little shoes, frail and delicate, sopped by the frozen slush. “Your wife!” she said hoarsely. “Is she your accomplice?” He started and turned round; and, on the instant, his face was like a devil’s. “Leave her out of this,” he said low and fierce, “if you value your soul. She’s innocent--as innocent as heaven, I tell you. If----” He broke off--seemed to make a menacing gesture, and again was going. And again she stopped him. “Not that way!” He was himself directly. “Why not? It’s private. It’s the way I came.” “The way!” she said, choking. “Do you know who lives down there?” He laughed. “I make it my business to know everything. Perhaps _you_ don’t know that he’s away for the moment--gone to take a trip on his own account. Boys will grow up. Rest satisfied, I made sure of his not being there as I came by the lodge.” Then she stepped back, and I heard him going lightly down the path into the Caddle. And presently she turned, and, pulling her shawl about her face, moved towards the house, but suddenly stumbled and stood swaying. My heart beat as if it would break. “Mother, mother!” I whispered in an agony, “why don’t you ask for me--trust me--love me!” But in a moment she recovered herself, cold, self-willed spirit as she was, and went off quietly through the trees. CHAPTER XII. AN ODD RECOGNITION I was so stunned, so amazed by this sudden and utterly unexpected turn of events, that, for a time, only a monstrous sense of indignation could make room for its consideration in my brain. That another should be found to have a title equal with mine, and a knowledge obviously greater, to claim those preserves of retribution which I had considered my exclusive property, was sufficiently disturbing; that I should be brought to realise how, to all the intents and purposes of this inquisition, I was suddenly confessed the confederate, the mean subordinate even, of a common blackmailer, was infinitely, sickeningly worse. For the first time I was awake to a healthy scorn of myself for ever having condescended to a habit of espionage. That it should have reduced me to something the level of this fellow!--no outright, hard-fisted burglar, as, to his better credit, I had assumed him to be, but just an obscene Jerry Sneak! It had been awful to me to see that cold exclusive beauty writhing in the grip of such a scoundrel. I felt fouled, humiliated, ashamed. There and then I swore an oath that I would let Lady Skene understand, on the first reasonable opportunity, the nature of my claim on her--not to bleed her pocket but her heart.