She must remain. God himself had willed it As for the shame of her former relation to Philip, it was her own secret. God alone knew of it, and He would keep it safe. It was the dark chamber of her heart which God only could unlock. He would never unlock it until the Day of Judgment, and then Philip would be standing by her side, and she would cast it back upon him, and say, “His, not mine, O God,” and the Great Judge of all would judge between them. But she began to cry again, like a child in the dark. As she threw off her cloak a second time, her dress crinkled, and she looked down at it and remembered that it was her wedding-dress. Then she looked around at the room, and remembered that it was her wedding chamber. She remembered how she had dreamt of coming in her bridal dress to her bridal room--proud, afraid, tingling with love, blushing with joy, whispering to herself, “This is for me--and this--and this. _He_ has given it, for he loves me and I love him, and he is mine and I am his, and he is my love and my lord, and he is coming to--” There was a gentle knocking at the door. It made her flesh creep. The knock came again. It went shrieking through and through her. “Kirry,” whispered a voice from without. She did not stir. “It's only Pete.” She neither spoke nor moved. There was silence for a moment, and then, half nervously, half jovially, half in laughter, half with emotion as if the heart outside was palpitating, the voice came again, “I'm coming in, darling!” PART IV. MAN AND WIFE. I. Next morning Kate said to herself, “My life must begin again from to-day.” She had a secret that Pete did not share, but she was not the first woman who had kept something from her husband. When people had secrets which it would hurt others to reveal, they ought to keep them close. Honour demanded that she should be as firm as a rock in blotting Philip from her soul. Remembering the promise which Pete had demanded of Philip at the wedding to make their house his home in Ramsey, and seeing that Philip must come, if only to save appearances, she asked herself if she ought to prevent him. But no! She resolved to conquer the passion that made his presence a danger. There was no safety in separation. In her relation to Philip she was like the convict who is beginning his life again--the only place where he can build up a sure career is precisely there where his crime is known. “Let Philip come,” she thought. She made his room ready. She was married. It was her duty to be a good wife. Pete loved her--his love would make it easy. They were sitting at breakfast in the hall-parlour, and she said, “I should like to be my own housekeeper, Pete.” “And right, too,” said Pete. “Be your own woman, darling--not your woman's woman--and have Mrs. Gorry for your housemaid.”