essure brought to bear upon me that day,--I had
been angered to the very soul. I sent her away with a heavy bribe, and
in her dress and under her name I fled from--I went aboard that ship. No
one guessed that I was not the Patience Worth to whose name I answered.
No one knows now,--none but you, none but you."

"And why am I so far honored, madam?" I said bluntly.

She crimsoned, then went white again. She was trembling now through her
whole frame. At last she broke out: "I am not of that crew that came
to marry! To me you are the veriest stranger,--you are but the hand at
which I caught to draw myself from a pit that had been digged for me.
It was my hope that this hour would never come. When I fled, mad
for escape, willing to dare anything but that which I left behind,
I thought, 'I may die before that ship with its shameless cargo sets
sail.' When the ship set sail, and we met with stormy weather, and there
was much sickness aboard, I thought, 'I may drown or I may die of the
fever.' When, this afternoon, I lay there in the boat, coming up this
dreadful river through the glare of the lightning, and you thought I
slept, I was thinking, 'The bolts may strike me yet, and all will be
well.' I prayed for that death, but the storm passed. I am not without
shame. I know that you must think all ill of me, that you must feel
yourself gulled and cheated. I am sorry--that is all I can say--I am
sorry. I am your wife--I was married to you to-day--but I know you not
and love you not. I ask you to hold me as I hold myself, a guest in your
house, nothing more. I am quite at your mercy. I am entirely friendless,
entirely alone. I appeal to your generosity, to your honor"--

Before I could prevent her she was kneeling to me, and she would not
rise, though I bade her do so.

I went to the door, unbarred it, and looked out into the night, for
the air within the room stifled me. It was not much better outside. The
clouds had gathered again, and were now hanging thick and low. From the
distance came a rumble of thunder, and the whole night was dull,
heavy, and breathless. Hot anger possessed me: anger against Rolfe
for suggesting this thing to me; anger against myself for that unlucky
throw; anger, most of all, against the woman who had so cozened me. In
the servants' huts, a hundred yards away, lights were still burning,
against rule, for the hour was late. Glad that there was something I
could rail out against, I strode down upon th