‘Besides,’ she went on quickly, ‘it isn’t as if you could do any good, you know. The harm was done once for all when I let him think he’d married me. I thought then--well, I had to take it or leave it--and every week I expected to hear of Frederick’s death. Then I meant to tell Horace myself, and have the ceremony over again. He couldn’t refuse. And all these years it’s been like living on a volcano, in the fear of meeting New York people. Out here there never are any, but in England I dye my hair, and alter my complexion.’ ‘Why did you change your mind,’ Madeline asked, ‘about telling Colonel Innes?’ ‘I haven’t! Why should I change my mind? For my own protection, I mean to get things put straight instantly--when the time comes.’ ‘When the time comes,’ Madeline repeated; and her eyes, as she fixed them on Mrs. Innes, were suddenly so lightened with a new idea that she dropped the lids over them as she waited for the answer. ‘When poor Frederick does pass away,’ Mrs. Innes said, with an air of observing the proprieties. ‘When they put him in prison it was a matter of months, the doctors said. That was one reason why I went abroad. I couldn’t bear to stay there and see him dying by inches, poor fellow.’ ‘Couldn’t you?’ ‘Oh, I couldn’t. And the idea of the hard labour made me SICK. But it seems to have improved his health, and now--there is no telling! I sometimes believe he will live out his sentence. Should you think that possible in the case of a man with half a lung?’ ‘I have no knowledge of pulmonary disease,’ Madeline said. She forced the words from her lips and carefully looked away, taking this second key to the situation mechanically, and for a moment groping with it. ‘What arrangement did you make to be informed about--about him?’ she asked, and instantly regretted having gone so perilously near provoking a direct question. ‘I subscribe to the “New York World”. I used to see lots of things in it--about the shock the news of my death gave him--’ A flash of hysterical amusement shot into Mrs. Innes’s eyes, and she questioned Madeline’s face to see whether it responded to her humour. Then she put her own features straight behind her handkerchief and went on. ‘And about his failing health, and then about his being so much better. But nothing now for ages.’ ‘Did the “World” tell you,’ asked Miss Anderson, with sudden interest, ‘that Mr. Prendergast came into a considerable fortune before--about two years ago?’ Mrs. Innes’s face turned suddenly blank. ‘How much?’ she exclaimed. ‘About five hundred thousand dollars, I believe. Left him by a cousin. Then you didn’t know?’ ‘That must have been Gordon Prendergast--the engineer!’ Mrs. Innes said, with excitement. ‘Fancy that! Leaving money to a relation in Sing Sing! Hadn’t altered his will, I suppose. Who could possibly,’ and her face fell visibly, ‘have foreseen such a thing?’