't. I shouldn't be a
man if I left the country at this time. I should loathe myself; I
should not be worthy of you."

She flung his hand away from her, and rose in another seizure of
wrath.

"Worthy!" she cried. "What man is worthy of a woman, when he cheats
her as you have cheated me! You are a fool, with your talk of loathing
yourself if you left the country! In God's name, what could there be
in that to make you loathe yourself? What claim has the country on
you, equal to the claim your wife has? Better loathe yourself for your
false treatment of her! You'd loathe yourself, indeed! Well, then, I
tell you this, 'tis I that will loathe you, if you stay! I shall
abominate you, I shall not let you come into my sight! Now, sir, take
your choice, this instant. Keep your promise with me--"

"'Twas not exactly a promise, my dear."

"I say, keep it, and take me to London, and keep my love and respect;
or break your promise, and my heart, and take my hate and contempt.
Choose, I say! Which? This instant! Speak!"

"Madge, dear, you are not yourself--"

"Oh, but I am, though! More myself than ever! And my own mistress,
too! Speak, I bid you! Tell me we shall go. Answer--will you do as
your wife wishes?"

"I will do as your husband ought."

"Will you go to England?"

"I will stay till I know the fate of the colonies; and to fight for
them if need be."

"You give me up, for the sake of a whim, of some silly fustian about
patriotism, some fool's rubbish of high-sounding words! _Me_, you
balance against a crazy notion! Very well, sir! How I shall hate you
for it! Don't come near me--not a step! Cling to your notion; see if
it will fill my place! From this moment, you're not my husband, I'm
not your wife--unless you promise we shall sail in June! And don't
dare speak to me, except to tell me that!"

Whereupon, paying no heed to his reproachful cry of "Madge," she swept
past him, and across the parlour, and up the hall staircase to her
room; leaving us all in the amazement which had held us motionless and
silent throughout the scene.

Philip stood with his hand upon the chair-back where she had wept;
pale and silent, the picture of abandonment and sorrow.

CHAPTER VI.

_Ned Comes Back, with an Interesting Tale of a Fortunate Irishman._

Before any of us knew what to say, a soft tread in the library
announced the approach of Mr. Cornelius. He entered unaware of the
scene that had just terminated, and with t