"That is so," she answered thoughtfully. "But the mater is ignorant of it all. Ah! if I only dare tell you. It would astound and stagger you." "He is in search of you, that's very clear," I said, hoping to induce her to tell me something further. "But he must not find me," she declared. "The day he discovers me I shall take my life," she added in a hard, desperate voice. "Why? Do you fear him?" She made no answer, but her chin sank upon her breast. "Then tell me the truth, Tibbie," I said. "He tried to compel you to marry him because he held some secret of yours that you do not wish to be known. Am I not right?" She nodded in the affirmative, and I saw that tears were in her fine eyes. What was the secret, I wondered? Was it the existence of that low-born lover, a photograph of whom he had carried in his bag? Did he hold over her a threat of exposure because he had become seized by a desire that she should be his wife? Many a woman has been forced into an odious marriage in order to preserve her secret. I looked into her pale haggard face and wondered. How beautiful she was in her terror and distress. She was in fear of that man, whose life was, when viewed in the plain light of day, somewhat mysterious. But what did she fear? Who was the man who had fallen by her hand? We had arranged that Mrs Williams should cook for us, and presently she came smilingly to lay the table, simply, but cleanly. Thus, our conversation was interrupted, but when alone again I returned to the subject, and she said, with a serious look,-- "Wilfrid, he must not discover me. If he does--if he does, then all is at an end. Even you cannot save me." "But I fear I may be followed here," I said. "He knew that we met last night, or he would not have been aware that you slept at Harker's. He, or someone employed by him, is watching me. I must remain away from you." "Yes," she remarked. "I quite foresee the danger, yet I shall be very lonely. And besides, what can I say to Mrs Williams?" "We'll have to make an excuse that I've been sent into the country to work," I said. "If I come daily here I'm quite certain Winsloe will discover you. This knowledge of his regarding our meeting the day before yesterday makes me suspicious." "You are right," she declared sadly. "He has means of knowing everything. No secret seems safe from that man, Wilfrid. I sometimes think--sometimes I think that--" and she hesitated. "That what?" But she did not reply. She was standing at the window gazing fixedly down into the grey, dismal street. The words she had uttered mechanically, just as though she were speaking to herself. "You told me, Tibbie, that if I pretended to be your husband that I might save you," I remarked presently. "And so you may, providing Ellice Winsloe does not discover me. If he does--then all is useless--quite useless. I shall have compromised myself and placed you in an invidious position, all to no purpose."