"But by discretion--by my remaining away from you, and only coming here by stealth when I know that Winsloe is not watchful, I may still remain your husband in the eyes of these people." "Yes, yes, Wilfrid," she said eagerly, placing her nervous hand upon my shoulder and looking deeply into my eyes. "That is the only way. I must live here alone--in hiding. They must not find me. Let us have patience--patience always--and we may foil that man's evil intentions. Ah! If you knew everything you would pity me. But you do not. You believe that I hold some guilty secret. Yes," she added hoarsely, "it is a guilty secret, and how can I sufficiently thank you for trusting me as blindly as you do? I am very unworthy. You are the best friend, Wilfrid, that woman ever had. Can you wonder at the suggestion I made to you in the Long Gallery the other day?" Then she hesitated, still looking me straight in the face. "But you have forgiven me," she went on with a sigh. "I thought that you loved me still--yes--I was very foolish. All women are so sometimes--all women who are terrified and unhappy, as I am!" And the tears again stood in her eyes as she bowed her beautiful head before me. CHAPTER TWELVE. IN THE HOUSE OF THE PARHAMS. That evening, when I returned to Bolton Street, I found Eric awaiting me. Unseen, he had followed Winsloe to various places during the afternoon, but his movements were in no way suspicious. At Harker's Hotel he had, it appeared, lost all trace of Sybil, and had probably employed a private detective to watch my movements. The adjourned inquest had been held at Midhurst, for in the _Globe_ there appeared a four-line paragraph saying that in the case of an unknown man found shot in Charlton Wood, a verdict of wilful murder had been returned, and the matter had been left in the hands of the police. A village tragedy attracts but little notice in London, and all the papers dismissed it in a paragraph of practically the same wording. That night we dined with two friends at the Trocadero, and next morning I set forth again upon my inquiries, leaving Eric to act as he thought best. My only promise to him was not to go near my pseudo wife. My first visit was to the pawnbroker's in the Fulham Road, to whom I presented the vouchers I had found upon the dead man, and received on redeeming them a cheap silver Geneva watch and heavy antique gold ring, in which a single ruby was set. "You don't recollect the gentleman who pledged these, I suppose?" I asked of the assistant. The young man, a smart, shrewd fellow, reflected a moment, and answered,-- "Well, yes, I do remember something of him. We had an argument about the ring. He wanted five pounds on it, and I wouldn't give it." "What kind of fellow was he?" I asked, explaining that I had bought the tickets from a third person. "Oh, youngish--with a short brown beard. Evidently a gentleman who was hard up. We get lots of them in here."