In that woman who skulked along the hedges and the bushes, by the back road that led down to the lake front, no one would have recognized the tall and stately Maud Willowby, the former belle of Lakeview, the gifted person whose proposed grand wedding to one of fortune’s favorites had been so tragically prevented. She hurried along as if full of a nameless terror, her shoulders covered by an old shawl, and her face completely hidden by the veil, which was ever present now. Once a man passed her, and gazed at her curiously. “By the boots, but she looks like a witch!” he muttered, and lost no time in moving on his way.

It was cold and cheerless, and the wind sighed dismally through the leafless branches of the trees that lined the way. But she paid no heed, and when she struck her foot against a stone and fell heavily she rose to her feet again without so much as a thought of the pain inflicted.

On and on she sped until the road was left behind, and she came out of the woods onto the broad stretch of sand which kept the rolling lake beyond in everlasting check. Here she paused for a moment. “The white, double boathouse,” she said musingly. “He must mean the one at Gains’ Point. I know of no other.”

Again she moved forward, down the lake shore, her eyes bent straight ahead to where a short and broad white structure stood out prominently on a curving arm of the land. That was the place he meant, true enough. He must be waiting for her, for it was ten minutes after the time he had appointed.

Her heart was beating loudly as if endeavoring to burst its confines. She was to face him again—face him and speak to him after thinking him dead so many years.

The boathouse was reached. All was dark and silent—not a soul in sight. She paused at the rear entrance. Had she made a mistake and come to the wrong place?

A hasty step around the corner of the building reassured her and almost made her heart stand still. It was the man she had faced in the courtroom—her husband!

Both stood silent for fully ten seconds—a long time to them. Then he stretched out his hand. She drew back, and her face assumed a proud, defiant look, although her very soul was quaking within her.

“Humph!” was his first exclamation. “You won’t even shake hands. You don’t seem very glad to see me.”

“Where did you come from?” she asked, fairly forcing her lips to move.

“Where did I come from?” he repeated. “That’s a nice greeting for a woman to give her husband after a separation of—let me see—how many years is it?”

“I asked you where you came from? How did you escape?”

“Oh! You mean how did I escape the wreck on the great lake? It was really very simple, although a close call, I can tell you that. When the Water Queen went down, I managed to keep myself afloat on a bit of wreckage for ten or twelve hours. It was an infernally long time, I can assure you, and at the last something struck me on the head, and I lost consciousness.

“When I came to, I was lying in a ward in the hospital at Clydehaven, on the Canadian side. They told me I had been out of my head for nearly three weeks, and I reckon they told the truth; for after I left the hospital there were times when I hardly knew what I was doing.

“I drifted away to Seattle, and into a number of the mining camps a couple of hundred miles back of there, and never thought to come East again until about a year ago. Now you’ve got the whole history, properly condensed, as the old professor up at the college used to say.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t stay away forever,” she returned bitterly.

“By Jove, Maud, now, that’s unkind. Don’t be so infernally rough on a poor fellow. I really wasn’t to blame—it was my head; upon my honor, it was.”

“And you have come back here, after all these years, simply to—to torture me?”

“Torture you? That’s good.” He paused, and saw that she was shivering. “Come into the boathouse. I have a key, and it’s more comfortable there than in this freezing cold wind. Oh, you can trust me,” he added, as he saw that she hesitated.

He led the way around to the side and entered by a door which stood open. She followed, and he lighted a lantern.

“No one will come here to-night, so we can have our little talk without fear of interruption,” he continued. “Here’s a bench, if you’ll sit down. I prefer to stand.”

“Will you tell me why you have come back?” she asked, still remaining close to the partly open door. “Why did you not—not——”

“Die off. Is that what you were going to say? Well, you see, it was not Dick Harley’s luck, that’s why. I might have come to you before this, only I hadn’t your address, and I imagined you were not thirsting for a sight of me.”

“You are a—a monster!”

“Oh, come, Maud, don’t ride that high horse. It won’t go with me. I reckon, when I left you, you were willing I should go.”

“You were right there. I hated you!” She put all of her vehemence into the words. “You coaxed me, a wild schoolgirl, into secretly marrying you, and then you neglected me—gambled, drank, and went to the dogs generally.”

“I used my own money for it,” he growled. “A gentleman has a right to drink and bet on horses if he chooses.”

“No man has a right to ruin his young wife’s happiness. Even if you did not love me, as you swore you did, you should have remained honorable; you should have stayed by my side.”

“What was the use? We didn’t love each other—you didn’t love me, and that’s the reason I didn’t care for you, and went to the dogs.”

“Ah! Then you admit your own depravity. You may also admit that it was only the natural bent of your own dwarfed character that impelled you onward in the path of sin. It was no consideration—or want of consideration—for me that made you a drunkard and a gambler.”

“There you go again, Maud. Do you want to anger me? Please to remember that we are married—that you are my wife.”

He now faced her boldly, brazenly, and she cowered back as if struck a blow in the face. Yes, it was only too true; no matter what he was—gambler, drunkard, or worse—he was her husband.

“It’s not seemly for a wife to upbraid her husband in this fashion,” he went on. “Why don’t you try to make yourself more agreeable and greet me as a husband ought to be greeted?”

He advanced a step, but she thrust him back.

“Keep off, Richard Harley!” she cried. “Do not dare to touch me. Even if I am your wife in name, I hate you, despise you.”

He paused, and his small eyes blinked rapidly.

“You’re a vixen,” he said sarcastically. “But such high-strung actions have no effect on me. Let me tell you something: I haven’t just arrived in Lakeview; I’ve been here some time, over at the race track, and I’ve been making a few quiet inquiries about you. You’ve been doing the nice thing, haven’t you—engaging yourself to another man when you were married to me, and——”

“I thought you were dead. The papers all announced your death.”

“Yes, the papers said I was dead, and you were extremely willing to take their word for it. You might have made a few inquiries——”

“I did. Every one said you were dead, and what reason had I to believe otherwise, when you did not return?”

“Well, let that pass. I am back now, well and strong, too, and I want to know what you propose doing about it? Shall I go up to your house with you, arm in arm, and break the news to that old father of yours?”

“No! Oh, Heaven above me, no! Not that! You would kill him,” she cried. “Anything but that!”

He gazed at her coolly, without one spark of pity. “I thought as much. That’s why I didn’t present myself, but sent for you instead.”

“Why do you not go away forever?” she earnestly cried.

“Oh, I dare say that would suit you first-rate—it would leave you free to catch some other fellow, now that this Chesterbrook—was that his name?—is out of the way.”

“No! No! I only want to get rid of you—so that my father may never learn of my wickedness,” she moaned.

“You won’t make up with me? If I promise to reform, and all that?” he asked curiously.

“Never! Never!”

“You are a woman of determination, and no mistake. Well, supposing we come to some agreement.”

“Yes. Yes!” she interrupted eagerly. “I will do anything if you will only go away and keep the past a secret.”

“Then I don’t know but that it can be fixed up without much trouble,” said he, and he looked out of the doorway to see that no one was in sight. “I thought maybe you would rather have my absence than my company, so I came prepared to talk business.”

“And what do you propose?”

“I want money,” was the sudden and blunt reply. “The races have gone against me, and I’ve about struck my last dollar. Get me five thousand dollars, and I’ll dust out and never come near you again.”

“Five thousand dollars!” Then it was money that he was after. He had sunk so low that he was willing to be bribed into departing. She despised him more than ever.

And at the same time her heart quailed at the announcement. It was a large sum he demanded, and she had but very little, for nearly all her cash had been turned over to Mrs. Darrow for the care of Roy. As she thought of this, she wondered that he had never suspected the birth of the child, born after he deserted her.

“Five thousand ain’t much,” he continued—“that is, to one fixed as you are. I used to be well off, but that time’s past now. Come, what do you say?”

“I haven’t so much,” she faltered. “I might raise a thousand; but five——”

“You can raise that if you try. You have diamonds and the like, and you’ll have to squeeze your father a bit, maybe; but see what you are gaining?”

“And you will promise—nay, swear—never to come near me again?” she asked, in almost a whisper.

“Yes, I’ll swear, or do anything else you desire,” he returned readily. “When can you bring me the money?” he went on, as though the matter was settled.

“I do not know. I must see what I can do. This is all so sudden.”

“The racing is at an end, and I want to leave Lakeview. There is nothing going on here, excepting the trial of the poor devil they have arrested for the murder of that lover of yours.”

A heart-wrung sigh escaped her. She had forgotten about that for the time being. Oh, what troubles seemed to be accumulating about her!

“I will send you word to-morrow,” she said. “Where can I find you?”

“I’ll come here, say, at noon sharp, and you must come yourself; I don’t want any letter.”

“I cannot have the money at that time, but I will let you know what I can do.”

“All right.” He held up the lantern, that he might gaze for once into her lovely face. “By Jove, Maud, you are a greater beauty than when I married you. No wonder that fellow who was killed wanted you all to himself.”

“Don’t! Don’t!” she cried. “Remember, he is dead.”

“I’ll remember that, all right enough. But say, you were extremely intimate before the time set for the wedding, weren’t you?”

“Extremely intimate? What do you mean?” She gazed at him quickly and searchingly. “What do you know of my—my engagement to Allen Chesterbrook?”

“Oh, I know a lot. Didn’t I tell you I had been around here a bit, looking up your doings? I wanted to learn how my dear wife was conducting herself, you know,” he added sarcastically.

“You spied on my doings?”

“Well, I suppose folks would call it that. I had the right.”

“You had not the right. Why did you not come to me at once, before—before——”

“Before you and he got too intimate, eh? I had my reasons.”

A strange light began to shine in her eyes, and she clenched her two white hands convulsively. “You spied on me. What did you see?”

“I saw enough.”

“Answer me—what did you see?”

“I said I saw enough. You ought to know what that means.”

“You dare not answer me. You saw nothing, Dick Harley. You are simply trying to frighten me.”

She put so much contempt into the words that they stung him deeply. His dissipated face flushed, and, setting down the lantern, he strode close to her.

“Didn’t I see something, though?” he fairly hissed. “Didn’t I see you sneak into his rooms on the very morning you and he were going to be married? Didn’t I hear all that pretty love-making after you had been in there a while? And didn’t I see you sneak out of the back door of the house, and make for your home by a lonely back path? Oh, I may be bad, but you are no angel, I can tell you that. Aha, my fine lady, I know something of your doings—something that you would not like to be known.”

His words startled her; she staggered back in turn, staring at him with distended eyes, her face as pale as that of a corpse.