but her voice and accent were new to him--more
refined, more mature, and he could not yet overcome the sense of
strangeness. He felt as though he were behaving with audacity; it was
necessary to remind himself again and again that this was no other than
Lilian Allen--nay, Lilian Northway; whose hand he had held, whose lips
he had kissed.

A thrill went through him.

"But you are my wife!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "What right have you to
call yourself Mrs. Quarrier? Have you pretended to marry that man?"

Lilian's eyes fell; she made no answer.

"You must tell me--or I shall have no choice but to go and ask him. And
if you have committed bigamy"----

"There has been no marriage," she hastened to say. "I have done what I
thought right."

"Right? I don't know how you can call that right. I suppose you were
persuaded into it. Does he know all the truth?"

She was racked with doubt as to what she should disclose. Her thoughts
would not be controlled, and whatever words she uttered seemed to come
from her lips of their own accord.

"What do you expect of me?" she cried, in a voice of utmost distress.
"I have been living like this for more than two years. Right or wrong,
it can't be changed--it can't be undone. You know that. It was natural
you should wish to speak to me; but why do you pretend to think that we
can be anything to each other? You have a right to my money--it shall
be yours at once."

He stamped, and his eyes shot anger.

"What do you take me for? Do you suppose I shall consent to give you up
for money? Tell me what I have asked. Does that man know your history?"

"Of course he knows it--everything."

"And he thinks I shall never succeed in finding you out! Well, he is
mistaken, you see--things of this kind are always found out, as you and
he might have known. You can't do wrong and live all your life as if
you were innocent."

The admonition came rather inappropriately from him, but it shook
Lilian in spite of her better sense.

"It can't be changed," she exclaimed. "It can't be undone."

"That's all nonsense!"

"I will die rather than leave him!"

Hot jealousy began to rage in him. He was not a man of vehement
passions, but penal servitude had wrought the natural effect upon his
appetites. The egotism of a conceited disposition tended to the same
result. He swore within himself a fierce oath that, come what might,
this woman should be his. She contrasted him with her wealthy lover,
desp