ho had painted in a hundred forms the unrestrained fury of his
countrywomen, when the grace and tenderness of their sex had deserted
them. She also was besotted at times, but whenever she was not besotted
her mind was full of vivacity, and her anger was as a whirlwind, and
neither fear nor prudence could hold her in check. Alan knew her only
too well, even before she had tried to kill him in France, and he had no
doubt that the outbreak of the last few days was only the beginning of a
persecution which she would maintain so long as she had the power to
injure him.

For himself he had already resolved what to do. Even his aunt must not
be subject to these annoyances, and he bade her pack up her things and
go to an old friend of hers in the country. He would leave his present
lodging and get housed somewhere out of her reach. Why should he remain
at her mercy, when it did not matter to any one where he lived, and when
certainly no householder would endure a lodger who was liable to be
visited by a madwoman?

But Lettice? How could she be defended from attack? It was clear that
Cora was jealous of her, or at all events maliciously set against her.
It had required very little to produce that effect. Heaven knew that
Lettice had done nothing to excite jealousy even in the mind of a
blameless wife, entitled to the most punctilious respect and
consideration of her husband. If only Lettice could be placed in safety,
carried away from London to some happy haven where no enemy could follow
and torment her, and where he might guard her goings and comings, he
would be content to play the part of a watch-dog, if by that means he
could be near her and serve her!

Something impelled him to get up and leave the house. It was dark by
this time, and he wandered aimlessly through the streets; but by and by,
without any conscious intention, he found himself walking rapidly in the
direction of Hammersmith.

Eight o'clock had struck when he left his lodgings in Alfred Place, and
it was after nine when he stood at the corner where the main-road passes
by the entrance to Brook Green. He had never once looked behind him;
and, even if he had, he would scarcely have detected in the darkness the
figure which dogged his steps with obstinate persistence.

He hesitated for a minute or more at the corner, and then walked slowly
round the Green. Opposite to Maple Cottage there was a large tree, and
underneath it, barely visible from the pavement,