"I'm the last person you thought of seeing, no doubt. But we must have a talk. I'm sorry that happened before some one else."

"Come with me out of the road. There's a field-path just here."

They crossed the stile, and walked a short distance in the direction of Bale Water. Then Lilian stopped.

"Who told you where to find me?"

Already Northway had decided upon his course of action. Whilst he followed Lilian, watching her every movement, the old amorous feeling had gradually taken strong hold upon him. He no longer thought of revenge. His one desire was to claim this beautiful girl as his wife.

In doing so, it seemed to him, he took an una.s.sailable position, put himself altogether in the right Marks's plot did not concern him; he threw it aside, and followed the guidance of his own discretion.

"I have found you," he said, fingering his throat nervously, "by mere chance. I came here in search of employment--something in a newspaper.

And I happened to see you in the streets. I asked who you were. Then, this morning, I watched you and followed you."

"What do you want?"

"That's a strange question, I think."

"You know there can't be anything between us."

"I don't see that."

He breathed hard; his eyes never moved from her face. Lilian, nerved by despair, spoke in almost a steady voice; but the landscape around her was veiled in mist; she saw only the visage which her memory had identified with repugnance and dread.

"If you want my money," she said, "you can have it--you shall have it at once. I give you it all."

"No, I don't ask for your money," Northway answered, with resentment.

"Here's some one coming; let us walk out into the field."

Lilian followed the direction of his look, and saw a man whom she did not recognize. She left the path and moved whither her companion was leading, over the stubby gra.s.s; it was wet, but for this she had no thought.

"How long have you been living in this way?" he asked, turning to her again.

"You have no right to question me."

"What!--no right? Then who _has_ a right I should like to know?"

He did not speak harshly; his look expressed sincere astonishment.

"I don't acknowledge," said Lilian, with quivering voice, "that that ceremony made me your wife."

"What do you mean? It was a legal marriage. Who has said anything against it?"

"You know very well that you did me a great wrong. The marriage was nothing but a form of words."

"On whose part? Certainly not on mine. I meant everything I said and promised. It's true I hadn't been living in the right way; but that was all done with. If nothing had happened, I should have begun a respectable life. I had made up my mind to do so. I shouldn't have deceived you in anything."

"Whether that's true or not, I don't know. I _was_ deceived, and cruelly. You did me an injury you could never have made good."

Northway drew in his cheeks, and stared at her persistently. He had begun to examine the details of her costume--her pretty hat, her gloves, the fur about her neck. In face she was not greatly changed from what he had known, but her voice and accent were new to him--more refined, more mature, and he could not yet overcome the sense of strangeness. He felt as though he were behaving with audacity; it was necessary to remind himself again and again that this was no other than Lilian Allen--nay, Lilian Northway; whose hand he had held, whose lips he had kissed.

A thrill went through him.

"But you are my wife!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "What right have you to call yourself Mrs. Quarrier? Have you pretended to marry that man?"

Lilian's eyes fell; she made no answer.

"You must tell me--or I shall have no choice but to go and ask him. And if you have committed bigamy"----

"There has been no marriage," she hastened to say. "I have done what I thought right."

"Right? I don't know how you can call that right. I suppose you were persuaded into it. Does he know all the truth?"

She was racked with doubt as to what she should disclose. Her thoughts would not be controlled, and whatever words she uttered seemed to come from her lips of their own accord.

"What do you expect of me?" she cried, in a voice of utmost distress.

"I have been living like this for more than two years. Right or wrong, it can't be changed--it can't be undone. You know that. It was natural you should wish to speak to me; but why do you pretend to think that we can be anything to each other? You have a right to my money--it shall be yours at once."

He stamped, and his eyes shot anger.

"What do you take me for? Do you suppose I shall consent to give you up for money? Tell me what I have asked. Does that man know your history?"

"Of course he knows it--everything."

"And he thinks I shall never succeed in finding you out! Well, he is mistaken, you see--things of this kind are always found out, as you and he might have known. You can't do wrong and live all your life as if you were innocent."

The admonition came rather inappropriately from him, but it shook Lilian in spite of her better sense.

"It can't be changed," she exclaimed. "It can't be undone."

"That's all nonsense!"

"I will die rather than leave him!"

Hot jealousy began to rage in him. He was not a man of vehement pa.s.sions, but penal servitude had wrought the natural effect upon his appet.i.tes. The egotism of a conceited disposition tended to the same result. He swore within himself a fierce oath that, come what might, this woman should be his. She contrasted him with her wealthy lover, despised him; but right and authority were on his side.

"Leave him you must--and shall so there's plain speaking! You will never go into that house again."

Lilian turned as if to flee from him. No one was within sight; and how could she have appealed to any one for help? In the distance she saw the roof of Mrs. Wade's cottage; it allayed her despair for the moment.

There, at all events, was a friend who would intervene for her, a strong and n.o.ble-minded woman, capable of offering the best counsel, of acting with decision. Vain now to think of hiding her secret from that friend--and who could be more safely trusted with it?

But she still had the resource of entreaty.

"You talk of right and wrong--is it right to be merciless? What can I ever be to you? Would you take me away by force, and compel me to live with you? I have told you I would die rather. When you think of everything, have you no pity for me? Whatever you intended, wasn't our marriage a terrible injustice to me? Oughtn't you to give a thought to that?"

"You are living an immoral life," replied Northway, with tremulous emphasis. "I could hold you up to shame. No, I don't ask you to come and live with me at once; I don't expect that. But you must leave that man, and live a respectable life, and--then in time I shall forgive you, instead of disgracing you in the divorce court. I ask only what is right. You used to be religious"----

"Oh, how can you talk to me like that! If you really think me wicked and disgraced, leave me to my own conscience! Have _you_ no sins that ask for forgiveness?"

"It isn't for you to speak of them," he retorted, with imbecile circling. "All I know is that you are my wife by law, and it is my duty to save you from this position. I sha'n't let you go back. If you resist my authority, I shall explain everything to any one who asks, that's all.--Who was that lady you were talking to?"