To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. “Well?” he asked her tersely. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. And he did not lack courage. He was at length rescued from his assailants,— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.
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