s hands about her throat. "Now"--and the
sudden pressure of his hands made her gasp and cough--"we'll begin at
the beginning."

"Do you mean to murder me?"

"Prob'ly. But not till I've 'ad the truth--and I'll 'aarve it to the
last word, if I tear it out o' yer boosum."

"You'll kill me if I tell you."

"See that winder! That's yer road--head first--if you try to lie to
me."

Then she told him the whole sickening story of her relations with Mr.
Barradine. He had debauched her innocence when she was quite a young
girl; she had continued to be one of his many mistresses for several
years; then he grew tired of her, and, his attentions gradually
ceasing, he had left her quite free to do what she pleased. She had
never liked him, had always feared him. The long intermittent thraldom
to his power had been an abomination to her, and it was martyrdom to
return to him.

"Only to save you, Will. And he wouldn't help unless I done it. It was
as much a sacrifice for you as if I'd been hung, drawn, and quartered
for your sake."

"And why did you sacrifice yourself in the beginning, before ever
you'd seen my face?"

"Auntie made me. It was Auntie's fault, not mine. I told her I was
afraid of him."

"Your aunt had been that gait with him herself, in her time?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Yes, I twigged that--and then the mealy-mouthed, filthy hag came over
me. I on'y guessed, but _you_ knew. Answer me;" and his grip tightened
on her throat, and he shook her. "Answer."

"Oh, I suppose so."

"And that cousin--the one he paid for in foreign parts?"

"I suppose so."

"Those rooms at the Cottage. They were furnished and set out for you
and him to take your pleasure."

"He used them for other women--once or twice."

"What other women?"

"Girls from London."

As he questioned her and listened to her answers his passion took a
rhythm, upward and downward, from blind wrath to black sorrow; and it
seemed that the points reached by the rising curves were becoming less
high, while the descending curves went lower and lower, through sorrow
into shame, and still down, to fathomless depths of despair. He had
heard all that it was necessary to hear. His life that he had thought
marvelous and splendid was ridiculous and pitiful; what he had fancied
to be success was failure; all that he had been proud of as being
gained by his own merit had been brought to him by his wife's
disgrace. What more could he learn?

Yet he went on q