The next minute he and Sir Gordon were arm-in-arm walking about the square; for though Bayle had left the place intending to go to his own rooms, Mrs Hallam's house seemed to possess an attraction for them both, and they stayed within sight of the quiet little home. VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER FIVE. THE WIFE SPEAKS. Sir Gordon was the first to break the silence, and his voice trembled with passion and excitement. "The villain!" he said in an angry whisper. "How dare he write to her! She suffered, but it was a calm and patient suffering, softened by time. Now he has torn open the wound to make it bleed afresh, and it will never heal again." "I have lived in an agonising dread of this night for the past ten years," said Bayle hoarsely. "You?" "Yes: I. Does it seem strange? I have seen her gradually growing more restful and happy in the love of her child. I have gone on loving that child as if she were my own. Was it not reasonable that I should dread the hour when that man might come and claim them once again?" "But they are not his now," cried Sir Gordon. "The man is socially dead." "To us and to the law," said Bayle; "but is the husband of her young love dead to the heart of such a woman as Millicent Hallam?" "Luttrell, man; Luttrell," cried Sir Gordon excitedly; "don't utter his accursed name!" "As Millicent Hallam," said Bayle gravely. "She is his wife. She will never change." "She must be made to change," cried Sir Gordon, whose excitement and anger were in strong contrast to the calm, patient suffering of the man upon whose arm he hung heavily as they tramped on round and round the circular railings within the square. "It is monstrous that he should be allowed to disturb her peace, Bayle. Look here! Did you say that letter came enclosed to you?" "Yes." "Then--then you were a fool, man--a fool! You call yourself her friend--the friend of that sweet girl?" "Their truest, best friend, I hope." "You call yourself my friend," continued Sir Gordon, in the same angry, unreasoning way, "and yet you give them that letter? You should have sent it back to the scoundrel, marked dead. They are dead to him. Bayle, you were a fool." "Do you think so?" he said smiling, and looking round at his companion. "My dear sir, is your Christianity at so low an ebb that you speak those words?" "Now you are beginning to preach, sir, to excuse yourself." "No," replied Bayle quietly. "I was only about to say, suppose these long years of suffering for his crime have changed the man; are we to say there is to be no ray of hope in his darkened life?" "I can't argue with you, Bayle," cried Sir Gordon. "Forgive me. I grow old and easily excited. I called you a fool: I was the fool. It was misplaced. You are not very angry with me?" "My dear old friend!" "My dear boy!"