insulted, and Major Murray may search the
world. He will never find his lost wife!"

"Stop, Mrs. Jennings!" Murray commanded, sharply. "The house is mine,
and _I_ have not insulted you. I thank Lady Courtenaye for trying to
protect me. But I don't intend to make any accusations against your
husband or you. Tell me what you know, and I will write a letter asking
Jennings to attend me as my doctor. That I promise."

Gaby Jennings threw me a look of triumph; and I am ashamed to say that
for a minute I was so angry at the man's foolhardiness that I hardly
cared what happened to him. But it was for a minute only. I felt that
Jim would have done the same in his place; and I was anxious to help him
in spite of himself.

The Frenchwoman accepted the promise, but suggested that Major Murray
might now wish to change his mind: he might like to be alone with her
when she made her revelations. Ralston was so far loyal to us, however,
that he refused to let us go. We were his best friends, and he was
deeply grateful, even though he had to act against our advice.

"Let them hear, then, that Rosemary Brandreth is Rosemary Brandreth to
this hour--not Rosemary Murray," Gaby Jennings snapped out. "She is not
your wife, because Guy Brandreth is not dead, and they are not divorced.
She does not even love you, Major Murray. She loves madly her real
husband, and left him only because she was jealous of some flirtation he
had with another woman. Then she met you--on shipboard, was it not?--and
this idea came into her head: to go through a ceremony of marriage, and
get what she could to feather her nest when you were dead, and she was
free to return home."

"My God! You lie!" broke out Ralston.

"I do not lie. I can prove to you that I do not. I knew Guy and Rosemary
Brandreth before I left the stage. I was acting in the States. People
made much of me there, as in England, in those days. In a big town
called Baltimore, in Maryland, I met the Brandreths. I met them at their
own house and at other houses where I was invited. There could be no
mistake. But when I saw the lady here, as your wife, I might have
thought her husband was dead; I might have thought that, and no
more--except for one thing: she was foolish: she showed that she was
afraid of me. Because of her manner I suspected something wrong. Letters
take ages, so I cabled to a man who had been nice to me in Baltimore. It
was a long message I sent, with several questions. Soon the