His manner had lost all its insolence, all its familiarity, as he courteously motioned her to a seat, and said, 'Sit down, madam, and hear me. Either you are wishing to deceive me, or, as I rather believe, you have yourself been made the victim of a gross deception. If the latter be the case, you will require all your nerve to bear what I am going to tell you. The man whom you knew under the name of Claxton, and whom you believed to be your husband, was in reality John Calverley, a married man, married long since to a woman of double your age.' She did not start, she did not cry. She looked hard at him, and said in a voice that seemed to force itself with difficulty through her compressed lips, 'It is not true! It is a lie!' 'It is true--I swear it!' cried Henrich Wetter. 'I knew Mr. Calverley in business years ago. Some months before his death I saw him walking with you in the garden at Hendon, and recognised him at once. I determined to see you again, but Mr. Calverley's death intervened, and--' He paused as he saw Alice pointing towards the door. 'Go,' she said, 'if you please--leave me at once, I must be left alone.' Mr. Wetter rose. He had made his coup, and he knew that then at least there was nothing farther to be done. So he took up his hat, made a quiet and respectful bow, and left the room without uttering a word. Then Alice flung her arms upon the table, and then burying her head between them, gave way to the violence of her grief. What wild exclamations of rage and despair are those which she utters amidst her bursts and sobbings? What reproaches, what maledictions against him now discovered to be the author of her misery? The only distinguishable words are, 'O, my poor dear John! O, my dear old John!' CHAPTER VII. THOU ART THE MAN. Humphrey Statham looked up from his writing in astonishment at the sight of his friend. 'Why, Martin,' he cried, rising and extending his hand, 'this is an unexpected pleasure. I thought I might have a line from you some time during the day, but I never anticipated that the letter which I sent you would have the effect of drawing you from your peaceful retreat, more especially as in your last you spoke so strongly in praise of your tranquil existence as contrasted with the excitement and worry here.'