"They lived in a little house near the hospital. She tells me that after the first two months she began to loathe him, and she moved into the hospital to escape him. He tried at first to melt and propitiate her; but when he found that it was no use, and that she was practically lost to him, he changed his temper, and he might have behaved to her like the tyrant he is but that her hold over the people among whom they were living, both on the fighting-men and the women, had become by this time greater than his own. They adored her, and Cliffe dared not ill-treat her. And so it went on through the winter. Sometimes they were on more friendly terms than at others. I gather that when he showed his dare-devil, heroic side she would relent to him, and talk as though she loved him. But she would never go back--to live with him; and that after a time alienated him completely. He was away more and more; and at last she tells me there was a handsome Bosnian girl, and--well, you can imagine the rest. Lady Kitty was so ill in March that they thought her dying, but she managed to write to this consul you spoke of at Trieste, and he sent up a doctor and a nurse. But this you probably know?" "Yes," said Ashe, hoarsely. "I heard that she was apparently very ill when she reached Treviso, but that she had rallied under Alice's nursing. Lady Alice wrote to my mother." "Did she tell Lady Tranmore anything of Lady Kitty's state of mind?" said the Dean, after a pause. Ashe also was slow in answering. At last he said: "I understand there has been great regret for the past." "Regret!" cried the Dean. "If ever there was a terrible case of the dealings of God with a human soul--" He began to walk up and down impetuously, wrestling with emotion. "Did she give you any explanation," said Ashe, presently, in a voice scarcely audible--"of their meeting at Verona? You know my mother believed--that she had broken with him--that all was saved. Then came a letter from the maid, written at Kitty's direction, to say that she had left her mistress--and they had started for Bosnia." "No; I tried. But she seemed to shrink with horror from everything to do with Verona. I have always supposed that fellow in some way got the information he wanted--bought it no doubt--and pursued her. But that she honestly meant to break with him I have no doubt at all." Ashe said nothing. "Think," said the Dean, "of the effect of that man's sudden appearance--of his romantic and powerful personality--your wife alone, miserable--doubting your love for her--" Ashe raised his hand with a gesture of passion. "If she had had the smallest love left for me she could have protected herself! I had written to her--she knew--" His voice broke. The Dean's face quivered. "My dear fellow--God knows--" He broke off. When he recovered composure he said: