the greatest bearing upon your perilous situation."
"And what is that?"
"The fact that you are married!"
Her face blanched to the lips, her hands trembled and for a moment mywords held her dumb.
"Who told you that?" she gasped, in a low voice.
"I knew it long ago," I replied.
"Nora has betrayed my secret," she observed in a hard voice.
"No," I declared; "your cousin has told me nothing. I have known thefact for months past."
"For months past! How?"
"You are not frank with me," I replied; "therefore I may be at libertyto preserve what secrets I think best."
"I--I do not deny it," she faltered. Then, in a voice trembling withemotion, she added, "Ah, Doctor Colkirk, if you knew all that I havesuffered you would quite understand my fear lest any one should discovermy secret. I often wonder how it is that I have not taken my own lifelong, long ago."
"No," I said in deep sympathy, taking her hand. "Bear up against allthese troubles. Let me assist you as your friend."
"But you cannot," she declared despairingly, tears welling in her eyes."You can only assist me by keeping my secret. Will you promise me to dothat?"
"Most certainly," I replied. "But I want to do more. I want topenetrate the veil of mystery which seems to surround your marriage. Iwant--"
"You can never do that," she interrupted quickly. "I have tried andtried, but have failed."
"Why?"
"Because, strange though it may seem, I am entirely unaware of theidentity of my husband. I have never seen him."
I was silent. Should I reveal to her the truth? She could not believeme, if I did. What proof could I show her?
"And you do not know his name?"
"No; I do not even know his name," she answered. "All I know is that bythis marriage I am debarred for ever from all love and happiness. Ihave nothing to live for--nothing! Each day increases the mystery, andeach day brings to me only bitterness and despair. Ah! how a woman maysuffer and still live."
"Have you no means by which to discover the identity of your unknownhusband?" I inquired.
"None whatever," she answered. "I know that I am married--beyond that,nothing."
"And who else is in possession of this secret?" I inquired.
"Nora."
"No one else?"
"No one--to my knowledge."
"But you are, I understand, engaged to marry Cyril Chetwode," I said,anxious to get the truth. "How can you marry him if you are really awife?"
"Ah! that's just it!" she cried. "I am the most miserable girl in allthe world. Everything is so hazy, so enshrouded in mystery. I ammarried, and yet I have no husband."
"But is it not perhaps best that, under the circumstances, you should beapart," I said. "He may be old, or ugly, or a man you could neverlove."
"I dread to think of it," she said hoarsely. "Sometimes I wonder whathe is really like, and who he really is."
"And, at the same time, you love Cyril Chetwode?" I said, the wordsalmost choking me.
I saw she loved that young ape, and my heart sank within me.
"We are very good friends," she answered.
"But you love him? Why not admit it?" I said.
"And if I do--if I do, it is useless--all useless," she murmured.
"Yes," I observed, "it is useless. You are already married."
"No!" she cried, holding up her tiny hand as though to stay my words."Do not let us talk of it. I cannot bear to think. The truth hangslike a shadow over my life."
"Does Chetwode know?" I inquired. "Is he aware that you can never behis?"
"He knows nothing. He loves me, and believes that one day we shallmany. Indeed, now that he has succeeded to the estate, he sees noreason why our marriage should be delayed, and is pressing me for ananswer."
Her breast heaved and fell quickly beneath her starched blouse. I sawhow agitated she was, and how, with difficulty, she was restraining hertears.
"What answer can you give him?"
"Ah!" she cried, "what answer, indeed. Was there ever woman before whoknew not her husband, or who suffered as I am suffering?"
"Your case is absolutely unique," I said. "Have you not endeavoured tosolve the problem? Surely, from the official record of the marriage, itis possible to obtain your husband's name? You have a wedding-ring, Isuppose?" I said, my thoughts running back to that fateful moment whenI had placed the golden bond of matrimony upon her hand.
"Yes," she answered, and, placing her hand within her bodice, drew forththe ring suspended by a narrow blue ribbon; "it is here."
I took it in my hand with a feeling of curiosity. How strange it was!That was the very ring which I had placed upon her finger when indesperation I had sold myself to the Tempter.
"Have you no idea whatever of the circumstances of your marriage? Doyou know nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing--save that I am actually married."
"The identity of the man who placed this ring upon your hand is anenigma?"
"Yes. I found it upon my finger; that is all that I am aware of. Ichanged my name, yet I am ignorant of what my new name really is."
A sound of wheels approaching up the drive greeted our ears, but I stillheld the ring in the hollow of my hand.
"Shall I tell you the true name of your husband?" I said earnestly,looking straight into those deep, clear eyes.
"What?" she cried, starting in quick surprise; "you know it? Surely,that is impossible!"
"Yes," I said in a low voice; "I know it."
At that instant the ralli-car, which had evidently been to CorshamStation, dashed past us towards the house, interrupting our conversationand causing us both to raise our heads.
At the side of Barton, the coachman, there sat a stranger, who, as hepassed, turned his head aside to glance at us. Our eyes met. In aninstant I recognised him. It was none other than the man for whom I hadbeen in active search through all these weeks--the Tempter!
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE TEMPTER.
The small-eyed man, to whom I had sold myself that fateful day, caughtsight of Beryl, and, raising his grey felt hat in recognition, pulledup, and swung himself down from the trap. I glanced at my love and sawthat her face was blanched to the lips. The meeting was, to her,evidently a most unexpected one.
Beneath the seat I saw a well-worn kit-bag, and a gun-case, which showedthat he had come on a visit. Smartly dressed in light grey, he wore abutton-hole of pink carnations, which gave him an air of gaiety andirresponsibility scarcely in keeping with his age.
"Ah, my dear Miss Wynd!" he cried, advancing to her with outstretchedhand. "I'm so delighted to find you here. It is a long time since wemet."
"Yes," she answered in a voice which trembled with suppressedexcitement. "But I had no idea that you were coming down," she added."Nora told me nothing."
"I too had no idea of visiting you, until the day before yesterday," hesaid. "I've been abroad for nearly a year, and only arrived back intown three days ago, when I found Sir Henry's, invitation, a month old,lying at my club. I wired to ask if I might still accept it, and here Iam."
He stood with his legs apart, his hat set rather jauntily upon his head,looking an entirely different person to that crabbed, strange old fellowwho sat behind the bar of sunlight, with the bank-notes in his claw-likefingers, every detail of that scene was as vivid in my memory as thoughit had occurred but yesterday. Again, I looked into his face. Yes, Ihad no doubt whatever that it was he.
"I--I am the first to bid you welcome to Atworth," Beryl said. "Norahas gone over with some of the people to visit the Haywards, atDodington. There's a flower-show there."
"I quite remember," he exclaimed, "I went over there last year. LadyDyrham drove us. Do you recollect?"
"Of course," she laughed. "And how it rained too. My new frock wasquite spoilt, and I had a bad cold for a fortnight afterwards. I'm notlikely to easily forge
t that drive home."
"Because of the spoilt frock?" he laughed, raising his small eyes to me.
"Yes, I suppose that's what has impressed itself upon my memory. Wewomen are never forgetful where clothes are concerned."
"And who's here? Anybody I know?" he inquired.
"Oh, there are the Pirries and the Tiremans, as usual, and, of course,Lady Dyrham," she answered. Then, a moment later she added, "This isDoctor Colkirk--Mr Ashwicke. Let me