t him for the
murder of the Dane. She resolved to communicate the latter fact only.
She was braver now than she had been formerly. She saw more clearly
that the way of the wicked man is not always so easy for him. If he
knew that his crime could be brought home to him; that he would
certainly be charged with murder if he dared to show himself, or if he
asked for money, he would desist. Before such a danger the most
hardened villain would shrink.

She also understood that it was desirable to hide from him the nature
of the evidence and the name of the only witness against him. She would
calmly tell him what would happen, and bid him begone, or take the
consequences.

Yet even if he were driven off he would return. She would live
henceforth in continual apprehension of his return. Her tranquillity
was gone.

Heavens! That a man should have such power over the lives of others!

She passed the most wretched day of her whole life. She saw in
anticipation the happiness of that household broken up. She pictured
his coming, but she could not picture his departure. For she had never
seen him baffled and defeated.

He would come in, big, burly, with his farmer-like manner confident,
bullying, masterful. He would ask her what she had done; he would swear
at her when he learned that she had done nothing; he would throw
himself into the most comfortable chair, stretch out his legs, and
order her to go and fetch Mr. Mountjoy. Would she be subdued by him as
of old? Would she find the courage to stand up to him? For the sake of
Iris--yes. For the sake of the man who had been so kind to her--yes.

In the evening, the two women--Mrs. Vimpany and Fanny--were seated in
the housekeeper's room. Both had work in their laps: neither was doing
any work. The autumnal day had been boisterous; the wind was getting
higher.

"What are you thinking of?" asked Fanny.

"I was thinking of my husband. If he were to come back, Fanny--if he
were to threaten--"

"You would loose my tongue--you would let me speak?"

"Yes; for her sake. I would have shielded him once---if I could. But
not now. I know, at last, that there is no single good thing left in
him."

"You have heard from him. I saw the letter this morning, in the box. I
knew the handwriting. I have been waiting for you to speak."

"Hush! Yes, Fanny; I have heard from him. He wants money. He will come
here to-morrow morning, and will threaten Mr. Mountjoy. Keep your
mistress in her ow