“No we shouldn’t,” he broke in with hasty emphasis; “on the contrary, for the first time for years, you will know what it is to be free and young and happy; you will live like others of your own age, and enjoy a little sunshine.” Looking at Letty as she stood with her back to the window, it seemed incredible that this slim young girl, was already a wife and mother. “The sun, you mean, would never shine on _me_,” she replied. “All the time I would be thinking of Cara, wearying to see her, and feeling the most terrible remorse. Is there anything in the whole world, that can hurt like that?” Lumley made no reply, he was struggling hard to keep his emotion well under control, and she continued tremulously: “No one will ever know of this madness of mine--no one but you. Hugo does not come to Sharsley for months and months; as soon as I get back, I’ll destroy my letter to him, the others as well--they were to be posted to-morrow. There’s the mail-train at half-past eight, and I shall easily catch it.” As she concluded, she picked up her hat, and put it on mechanically. Meanwhile Lumley stood listening to her, watching her keenly, and assuring himself that in the coming struggle between two wills, the victory _must_ go to the strong. “I am pleading as much for your sake as mine,” she resumed, looking at him with wistful dignity, and not a little daunted by his continued silence. “Think of your poor father, who is so proud of you; think of Frances, who is devoted to you--and to me. Think of my poor little Cara, that I would be deserting for ever.” “It is too late to talk of these things now, Letty,” he answered inflexibly. “How can you suggest returning to a fellow that deserts you, and treats you brutally and cruelly; a man that you regard with shuddering repulsion?” He was resolved to hit hard. “Oh, Lancelot, don’t!” wincing and turning away; “if you only knew. I’d go with you to the world’s end--I would--but for the child. Yes; in spite of your father’s grey hairs, and your sister’s confidence and affection; but there is something that I cannot explain, and that you would not understand; it is the _mother_ in me, that is drawing me back--yes, and I am going.” “No!” said Lumley suddenly, walking across the room, and placing his back against the door. “You don’t leave London to-night--talk of madness--that would be madness indeed!” His face looked stern and very pale; he had braced himself as for a life and death struggle.