y last
words. Before I could speak again, she suddenly faced me, and struck her
open hand on the table with a passionate resolution which I now saw in
her for the first time.

"Stop!" she cried. "There must be an end to this. And an end there shall
be. Do you know who that man is who has just left the house? Answer me,
Mr. Germaine! I am speaking in earnest."

There was no choice but to answer her. She was indeed in
earnest--vehemently in earnest.

"His letter tells me," I said, "that he is Mr. Van Brandt."

She sat down again, and turned her face away from me.

"Do you know how he came to write to you?" she asked. "Do you know what
made him invite you to this house?"

I thought of the suspicion that had crossed my mind when I read Van
Brandt's letter. I made no reply.

"You force me to tell you the truth," she went on. "He asked me who you
were, last night on our way home. I knew that you were rich, and that
_he_ wanted money. I told him I knew nothing of your position in the
world. He was too cunning to believe me; he went out to the public-house
and looked at a directory. He came back and said, 'Mr. Germaine has a
house in Berkeley Square and a country-seat in the Highlands. He is not
a man for a poor devil like me to offend; I mean to make a friend of
him, and I expect you to make a friend of him too.' He sat down and
wrote to you. I am living under that man's protection, Mr. Germaine. His
wife is not dead, as you may suppose; she is living, and I know her to
be living. I wrote to you that I was beneath your notice, and you have
obliged me to tell you why. Am I sufficiently degraded to bring you to
your senses?"

I drew closer to her. She tried to get up and leave me. I knew my
power over her, and used it (as any man in my place would have used it)
without scruple. I took her hand.

"I don't believe you have voluntarily degraded yourself," I said. "You
have been forced into your present position: there are circumstances
which excuse you, and which you are purposely keeping back from me.
Nothing will convince me that you are a base woman. Should I love you as
I love you, if you were really unworthy of me?"

She struggled to free her hand; I still held it. She tried to change the
subject. "There is one thing you haven't told me yet," she said, with a
faint, forced smile. "Have you seen the apparition of me again since I
left you?"

"No. Have _you_ ever seen _me_ again, as you saw me in your dream at the