me." The words were apathetic. She had not cared
whether he wrote to her or not.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I had no chance, and what sense was there in writing? I have got here
almost as soon as a letter would have done." He walked a pace from her
and came back. "I'm a bad hand at writing, anyway," he said, sombrely.

She was looking again into the street, and the weary outline of her face
touched his heart.

"I thought of you all the time," he said, impulsively. "I cursed every
minute that we were delayed."

She asked another question.

"Have you been to your flat?"

"I came straight here, of course. I was anxious about you. I thought you
might be wondering what had become of me."

She drew a long sigh.

"Then you haven't got it?"

"Haven't got what?" he asked gently.

She rose to her feet.

"My ring and the money. It was all a mistake. I don't want to be married
to you any more." She regarded him with wide, frightened eyes. For the
first time it was slowly dawning upon her that perhaps it was not such
an easy thing to get unmarried as it had been to get married.

"Please!" she added with faint appeal.

The Beggar Man's face hardened.

"My dear child," he said as patiently as he could, "it's not possible to
stop being married like that, for no reason! Come, Faith, be reasonable!
I make every allowance for you. I--I'm grieved at your mother's death,
but...."

The burning colour rushed suddenly to the girl's face. Her blank eyes
woke into life and passion.

"Grieved! When you helped to kill her!" she cried. She broke into wild
laughter. "When you helped to kill her!" she said again helplessly.

The Beggar Man caught her by both arms.

"Faith! For God's sake," he said hoarsely. He thought that the shock of
her mother's death had turned her brain. He tried to draw her to him,
but she resisted him fiercely.

"You killed my father and ruined his life," she went on, raving. "You
killed my father, and now you've killed my mother. Oh, I wish I could
die, too! I wish I had never seen you." And quite suddenly she seemed to
collapse, and would have fallen but for Forrester's upholding arms.

He laid her down on the couch by the window, and called to the kindly
neighbour. The doctor had just arrived for Mrs. Ledley, and he came at
once to Faith.

Forrester stood by, pale and anxious.

"The mother is dead, of course?" he asked once hopelessly, and the
doctor looked up for a moment to answer.

"S