"And he married me," she said, "and I am going to break that marriage as soon as I possibly can." "I know, I hope so," said Stanford Beale. "I believe it is difficult, but I will do all I possibly can. Believe me, Miss Cresswell----" "I am not Miss Cresswell any longer," she said with a wry little face, "but please don't call me by my real name." "I won't," he said fervently. "You knew he wanted to marry me for my money and not for my beauty or my accomplishments," she said, "and so you followed me down to Deans Folly." "Yes, yes, but I must explain. I know it will sound horrible to you and you may have the lowest opinion of me, but I have got to tell you." He saw the look of alarm gather in her eyes and plunged into his story. "I thought that if you were already married van Heerden would be satisfied and take no further steps against you." "But I wasn't already married," she said, puzzled. "Wait, wait, please," he begged, "keep that in your mind, that I was satisfied van Heerden wanted you for your money, and that if you were already married or even if you weren't and he thought you were I could save you from dangers, the extent of which even I do not know. And there was a man named Homo, a crook. He had been a parson and had all the manner and style of his profession. So I got a special licence in my own name." "You?" she said breathlessly. "A marriage licence? To marry me?" He nodded. "And I took Homo with me in my search for you. I knew that I should have a very small margin of time, and I thought if Homo performed the ceremony and I could confront van Heerden with the accomplished deed----" She sprang to her feet with a laugh. "Oh, I see, I see," she said. "Oh, how splendid! And you went through this mock ceremony! Where was I?" "You were at the window," he said miserably. "But how lovely! And you were outside and your parson with the funny name--but that's delicious! So I wasn't married at all and this is your ring." She picked it up with a mocking light in her eyes, and held it out to him, but he shook his head. "You were married," he said, in a voice which was hardly audible. "Married? How?" "Homo was not a fake! He was a real clergyman! And the marriage was legal!" They looked at one another without speaking. On the girl's part there was nothing but pure amazement; but Stanford Beale read horror, loathing, consternation and unforgiving wrath, and waited, as the criminal waits for his sentence, upon her next words. "So I am really married--to you," she said wonderingly. "You will never forgive me, I know." He did not look at her now. "My own excuse is that I did what I did because I--wanted to save you. I might have sailed in with a gun and shot them up. I might have waited my chance and broken into the house. I might have taken a risk and surrounded the place with police, but that would have meant delay. I didn't do the normal things or take the normal view--I couldn't with you."