ow so famous, I had,
through my husband's malice, been the means of dragging through the
dust.

I remember that I thought I should never be able to look into my
darling's face again, that when he came in the afternoon (as he always
did) I should have to run away from him, and that all that was left to
me was to hide myself and die.

But just as these wild thoughts were galloping through my brain I heard
the sneck of the garden gate, and almost before I was aware of what else
was happening Martin had come sweeping into the house like a rush of
wind, thrown his arms around me, and covered my face, my neck, and my
hands with kisses--never having done so before since I came to live at
his mother's home.

"Such news! Such news!" he cried. "We are free, free, free!"

Then, seeing the newspaper at my feet on the floor, he said:

"Ah, I see you know already. I told them to keep everything away from
you--all the miserable legal business. But no matter! It's over now. Of
course it's shocking--perfectly shocking--that that squirming worm,
after his gross infidelities, should have been able to do what he has
done. But what matter about that either? He has done just what we
wanted--what you couldn't do for yourself before I went away, your
conscience forbidding you. The barrier that has divided us is down . . .
now we can be married at any time."

I was so overcome by Martin's splendid courage, so afraid to believe
fully that the boundless relief I had looked for so long had come to me
at last, that for some time I could not speak. And when I did speak,
though my heart was clamouring loud, I only said:

"But do you really think that . . . that we can now be husband and
wife?"

"Think it?" he cried, with a peal of laughter. "I should think I do
think it. What's to prevent us? Nothing! You've suffered enough, my poor
girl. But all that you have gone through has to be forgotten, and you
are never to look back again."

"Yes, yes, I know I should be happy, very happy," I said, "but what
about you?"

"Me?"

"I looked forward to being a help--at least not a trouble to you,
Martin."

"And so you will be. Why shouldn't you?"

"Martin," I said (I knew what I was doing, but I couldn't help doing
it), "wouldn't it injure you to marry me . . . being what I am now . . .
in the eyes of the world, I mean?"

He looked at me for a moment as if trying to catch my meaning, and then
snatched me still closer to his breast.

"Mary,"