hink of Nap
just then.

It was not a very long letter that she wrote, sitting there in the
silence of her room, and it did not take her long to write. But when it
was finished, closed and directed, she sat on with her chin upon her
hand, thinking. It seemed scarcely conceivable that he would refuse to
let her go.

She could not imagine herself to be in any sense necessary to him. She
had helped him with the estate in many ways, but she had done nothing
that a trustworthy agent could not do, save, perhaps, in the matter of
caring for the poorer tenants. They would miss her, she told herself, but
no one else. It was very long since she had entertained any guests at the
Manor. Sir Giles had offended almost everyone who could ever have claimed
the privilege of intimacy with him. And people wondered openly that his
wife still lived with him. Well, they would not wonder much longer.

And when her life was at her own disposal what would she do with it?

There were many things she might do; as secretary, as companion, as
music-teacher, as cook. She knew she need not be at a loss. And again the
prospect of freedom from a yoke that galled her intolerably made her
heart leap.

A slight sound in the passage brought her out of her reverie. She glanced
up. It was probably Dimsdale. She would give him the note to deliver to
his master in the morning. She crossed to the door and opened it.

The next instant, in amazement, she drew back. On the threshold, face to
face with her, stood her husband!

He did not give her time to speak, but pushed straight forward into the
room as if in haste. His face was white and purple in patches. His eyes
were narrowed and furtive. There was something unspeakably evil in the
way they avoided hers. He carried his right hand behind him.

He began to speak at once in quick, staccato tones, with which she was
utterly unfamiliar.

"So you think you are going to escape me, do you? But you won't! No, not
for all the Errols in the world!"

She did not answer him. There was something so utterly unusual in this
abrupt visitation that she knew not how to cope with it. But he scarcely
waited for an answer. He swung the door behind him with a bang.

"Do you remember," he said, his staccato tone merging into one of rising
violence, "a promise I made to you the first time I caught that scoundrel
making love to you? I swore that if it happened again I'd thrash him.
Well, I'm a man who keeps his promises. I