f a friend
in whom I was interested. The answer was given without hesitation. I had
married, honestly believing my husband's name to be the name under which
I had known him. The witnesses to my marriage--my uncle, my aunt, and
Benjamin--had acted, as I had acted, in perfect good faith. Under those
circumstances, there was no doubt about the law. I was legally married.
Macallan or Woodville, I was his wife.

This decisive answer relieved me of a heavy anxiety. I accepted my old
friend's invitation to return with him to St. John's Wood, and to make
my luncheon at his early dinner.

On our way back I reverted to the one other subject which was now
uppermost in my mind. I reiterated my resolution to discover why Eustace
had not married me under the name that was really his own.

My companion shook his head, and entreated me to consider well
beforehand what I proposed doing. His advice to me--so strangely do
extremes meet!--was my mother-in-law's advice, repeated almost word for
word. "Leave things as they are, my dear. In the interest of your own
peace of mind be satisfied with your husband's affection. You know
that you are his wife, and you know that he loves you. Surely that is
enough?"

I had but one answer to this. Life, on such conditions as my good friend
had just stated, would be simply unendurable to me. Nothing could alter
my resolution--for this plain reason, that nothing could reconcile me to
living with my husband on the terms on which we were living now. It only
rested with Benjamin to say whether he would give a helping hand to his
master's daughter or not.

The old man's answer was thoroughly characteristic of him.

"Mention what you want of me, my dear," was all he said.

We were then passing a street in the neighborhood of Portman Square. I
was on the point of speaking again, when the words were suspended on my
lips. I saw my husband.

He was just descending the steps of a house--as if leaving it after a
visit. His eyes were on the ground: he did not look up when the-carriage
passed. As the servant closed the door behind him, I noticed that the
number of the house was Sixteen. At the next corner I saw the name of
the street. It was Vivian Place.

"Do you happen to know who lives at Number Sixteen Vivian Place?" I
inquired of my companion.

Benjamin started. My question was certainly a strange one, after what he
had just said to me.

"No," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I have just seen Eus