her hands roughly so that she was compelled to relinquish
her hold.

He was leaving the room, but again she caught him, clinging to him
resolutely, and beseeching him to heed her word.

This angered him. His face was pale, his eyes flashed quickly and,
gripping her by the right hand, he raised his fist to strike her.

In a flash, however, Carlier, who stood with his hat on ready to depart,
sprang in from behind, and gripped the brute's arm, shouting:

"No, you shall not strike her--not while I am present! Come away, you
infernal coward!"

Jean gave vent to a hysterical shriek, and shook herself free, but ere
she could realise what had actually happened, the two men, without
further word, had left the room, her husband slamming the door after him
with a fierce imprecation.

Then she stood alone, white-faced, terrified, heart-broken.

Ralph Ansell had at last shown himself in his true colours--a thief, a
bully, a coward, and a blackguard.

And yet she had loved him until that hour--loved him with all the
strength of her being--loved him as she had loved no other man in her
whole life.

She had lived only for him, and she would have willingly died for him
had he not raised his hand against her.

But she stood in the centre of that meagre little room, staring straight
before her, her countenance white to the lips, her big, dark eyes fixed
like one in a dream.

Poor Jean! Even then her brain was awhirl. She could scarcely realise
the grim, terrible truth.

For a few moments she stood there motionless as a statue, then suddenly
she staggered, reeled, and collapsed, inert and senseless, upon the
floor.

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE NIGHT.

Not until several hours afterwards did Jean regain consciousness.

When slowly she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly about the silent
room, she found herself lying in a heap upon the floor, a terrible
throbbing across her brow and a lump in her throat.

Gradually she recollected the horror of that half-hour before she had
fainted, and slowly she raised herself and tottered to a chair.

Upon the table stood the empty bottle from which Ralph and Adolphe had
drunk glass after glass of red wine, before going forth to commit the
crime. There were the three empty plates, too; while on the top of the
cupboard the cheap, evil-smelling lamp which Jean had lit on Ralph's
arrival, was burning low, shedding a small zone of dim, yellow light.

"Gone!" she gasped aloud. "Oh, I