with possessing, and her first thought was not for
herself, but for her companion in misfortune. Placing her hands on
either side of the bishop's face, she kissed him fondly, tenderly,
pityingly.

'My poor darling, how you must have suffered!' she said softly. 'Why did
you not tell me of this long ago, so that I might share your sorrow?'

'I was afraid--afraid to--to speak, Amy,' gasped the bishop, overwhelmed
by her extraordinary composure.

'You need not have been afraid, George. I am no fairweather wife.'

'Alas! alas!' sighed the bishop.

'I am your wife,' cried Mrs Pendle, answering his thought after the
manner of women; 'that wicked, cruel man died to me thirty years ago.'

'In the eyes of the law, my--'

'In the eyes of God I am your wife,' interrupted Mrs Pendle, vehemently;
'for over twenty-five years we have been all in all to one another. I
bear your name, I am the mother of your children. Do you think these
things won't outweigh the claims of that wretch, who ill-treated and
deserted me, who lied about his death, and extorted money for his
forgery? To satisfy your scruples I am willing to marry you again; but
to my mind there is no need, even though that brute came back from the
grave to create it. He--'

'Amy! Amy! the man is dead!'

'I know he is; he died thirty years ago. Don't tell me otherwise. I am
married to you, and my children can hold up their heads with anyone. If
Stephen Krant had come to me with his villainous tempting, I should have
defied him, scorned him, trod him under foot.' She rose in a tempest of
passion and stamped on the carpet.

'He would have told; he would have disgraced us.'

'There can be no disgrace in innocence,' flashed out Mrs Pendle,
fierily. 'We married, you and I, in all good faith. He was reported
dead; you saw his grave. I deny that the man came to life.'

'You cannot deny facts,' said the bishop, shaking his head.

'Can't I? I'd deny anything so far as that wretch is concerned. He
fascinated me when I was a weak, foolish girl, as a serpent fascinates a
bird. He married me for my money; and when it was gone his love went
with it. He treated me like the low-minded brute he was; you know he
did, George, you know he did. When he was shot in Alsace, I thanked God.
I did! I did! I did!'

'Hush, Amy, hush!' said Dr Pendle, trying to soothe her excitement, 'you
will make yourself ill!'

'No, I won't, George; I am as calm as you are; I can't help feeling
excite