pected by you. I hope that you will be
prepared----"

"Go on," said Milly, sharply. "What is it? Why have you come?"

"Mr. Beadon wishes you to understand, madam, that he is going abroad
again very shortly. He advises you to inform the landlady of this fact,
which will explain his absence. But he also commissions me to put into
your hands a sum for your present expenses, and to inform you that he
will be quite willing to assist you at any time if you make application
to him through me--at the address which I am to give you. Any personal
application to himself will be disregarded."

"But, do you mean," said Milly, her cheeks growing very white, "that he
is not coming--to say good-bye--before he goes abroad?"

"He thinks it better to spare you and himself an interview that might be
unpleasant," said Mr. Johnson. "You understand, I suppose--a--that Mr.
Beadon--my principal, that is--wishes to close his relations with you
finally."

Milly started to her feet and drew herself to her full height. Her
cheeks were blazing now, her eyes on fire. "But I am _his wife_!" she
cried.

Johnson looked at her for a moment in silent admiration. He had not
liked the errand on which he was sent, and he liked it now less than
ever.

"Pardon me, madam," he said, in some embarrassment; "but Mr. Beadon is
under the impression that you understand--that you have understood all
along--that you were not legally in that position----"

"You mean," she said, her whole form quivering in her excitement, "that
what he told me was false?--that when he said that our declaration
before witnesses that we were man and wife was a true marriage--you mean
that that was a lie?"

Johnson looked at the walls and the ceiling--anywhere but at poor
Milly's agonized face.

"It was not a marriage, madam," he said, in a regretful tone.

"Then he--he--deceived me--purposely? Oh, he is wicked! he is base! And
I thought myself--I thought myself----"

Her fingers clutched at the neck of her dress, as if to tear it open,
and so relieve the swelling of her throat.

"Does he think that he can make it up to me with money? Oh, I'll take
nothing from him any more. Let him go if he will, and his money too--I
shall die and be forgotten--I won't live to bear the shame of it--the
pain--the----"

She did not finish her sentence. Her slight form was swaying to and fro,
like a reed shaken by the wind; her face had grown whiter and whiter as
she went on: finally she fl