She strove for a few minutes to bring the past back to her mind, but it presented itself to her in pictures so blurred and indistinct that she relinquished the effort. Up to the point of her being driven from Mrs. Seaton's house everything was clear, but her memory was gone upon all that had occurred afterward until she found herself with Gerald in a foreign land. The names of places, the names of people with which and whom she had been associated within that interval were completely blotted out. She did not doubt the base story which Leonard had related. Had she and Gerald been legally married he would have placed in her hands the certificate which proved her a lawful wife. The fatal omission proved Leonard's story to be true. Not a word about their marriage had ever passed between Gerald and herself during their honeymoon. He, with his careless easy nature, living with Emilia a life of sweetest happiness, left everything to the future; he had thought it wisest, too, to allow a long time to elapse before reviving memories which had brought Emilia so much sorrow; she would regain her full strength, she would be better able to think of the past. This was not known to Emilia; she could only decide upon her future action by what was within her cognizance. She felt no bitterness toward Gerald. He had, no doubt, acted for the best, and had imposed upon her by a mock ceremony of marriage, in order that she might be restored to health and reason. Would it have been better that she had died? No. Her child would soon be in her arms, bringing with it hope, and light, and peace perhaps. But the child must not open her eyes among those who knew her unhappy mother's story. The duty to the unborn which Emilia had to perform must be performed elsewhere. Gerald's brother was right in advising her to choose some other country than England in which to reside. But she had to think of his offer to provide for her. The moment she set her mind upon the subject she indignantly rejected the offer. It was too late to remedy the errors of the past into which she had been unwittingly led, but there should be no bridge between the past and the future. Even had she been willing to entertain the offer, it had been made in terms so insulting that no woman of decency could have accepted it without covering herself with shame. "You shall not have the power to say that you have been first betrayed and then cast forth penniless." The provision, then, assumed the shape of a bribe. And it was to be paid so long as she led a respectable life--a tacit admission that hitherto her life had been disreputable within her own knowledge. No, she would reject the offer, and would, with the labor of her own hands, support herself and child. At this point of her musings the landlord of the inn unceremoniously entered the room. "I wish you to leave my house to-day," he said.