s' submission to a touch she shrank from; one long effort not
to shrink! Bad wife! Not if he killed her would she answer now!

"Do you hear?" he said once more: "Make up your mind to that. I mean
it."

He had gripped the arms of her chair, till she could feel it quiver
beneath her. Would he drive his fist into her face that she managed to
keep still smiling? But there only passed into his eyes an expression
which she could not read.

"Well," he said, "you know!" and walked heavily towards the door.

The moment he had gone she sprang up: Yes, she was a bad wife! A wife
who had reached the end of her tether. A wife who hated instead of
loving. A wife in prison! Bad wife! Martyrdom, then, for the sake of a
faith in her that was lost already, could be but folly. If she seemed
bad and false to him, there was no longer reason to pretend to be
otherwise. No longer would she, in the words of the old song:--'sit and
sigh--pulling bracken, pulling bracken.' No more would she starve for
want of love, and watch the nights throb and ache, as last night had
throbbed and ached, with the passion that she might not satisfy.

And while she was dressing she wondered why she did not look tired. To
get out quickly! To send her lover word at once to hasten to her while
it was safe--that she might tell him she was coming to him out of
prison! She would telegraph for him to come that evening with a boat,
opposite the tall poplar. She and her Aunt and Uncle were to go to
dinner at the Rectory, but she would plead headache at the last minute.
When the Ercotts had gone she would slip out, and he and she would row
over to the wood, and be together for two hours of happiness. And they
must make a clear plan, too--for to-morrow they would begin their
life together. But it would not be safe to send that message from the
village; she must go down and over the bridge to the post-office on
the other side, where they did not know her. It was too late now before
breakfast. Better after, when she could slip away, knowing for certain
that her husband had gone. It would still not be too late for her
telegram--Lennan never left his rooms till the midday post which brought
her letters.

She finished dressing, and knowing that she must show no trace of her
excitement, sat quite still for several minutes, forcing herself into
languor. Then she went down. Her husband had breakfasted and gone. At
everything she did, and every word she spoke, she was now smil