"YES, said Benjamin. "It _is_ a coincidence certainly. Still--"

He stopped and looked at me. He seemed a little doubtful how Imight receive what he had it in his mind to say to me next.

"Go on," I said.

"Still, my dear, I see nothing suspicious in what has happened,"he resumed. "To my mind it is quite natural that your husband,being in London, should pay a visit to one of his friends. Andit's equally natural that we should pass through Vivian Place onour way back here. This seems to be the reasonable view. What do_you_ say?"

"I have told you already that my mind is in a bad way aboutEustace," I answered. "_I_ say there is some motive at the bottomof his visit to Major Fitz-David. It is not an ordinary call. Iam firmly convinced it is not an ordinary call!"

"Suppose we get on with our dinner?" said Benjamin, resignedly."Here is a loin of mutton, my dear--an ordinary loin of mutton.Is there anything suspicious in _that?_ Very well, then. Show meyou have confidence in the mutton; please eat. There's the wine,again. No mystery, Valeria, in that claret--I'll take my oathit's nothing but innocent juice of the grape. If we can't believein anything else, let's believe in juice of the grape. Your goodhealth, my dear."

I adapted myself to the old man's genial humor as readily as Icould. We ate and we drank, and we talked of by-gone days. For alittle while I was almost happy in the company of my fatherly oldfriend. Why was I not old too? Why had I not done with love, withits certain miseries, its transient delights, its cruel losses,its bitterly doubtful gains? The last autumn flowers in thewindow basked brightly in the last of the autumn sunlight.Benjamin's little dog digested his dinner in perfect comfort onthe hearth. The parrot in the next house screeched his vocalaccomplishments cheerfully. I don't doubt that it is a greatprivilege to be a human being. But may it not be the happierdestiny to be an animal or a plant?

The brief respite was soon over; all my anxieties came back. Iwas once more a doubting, discontented, depressed creature when Irose to say good-by.

"Promise, my dear, you will do nothing rash, "said Benjamin, ashe opened the door for me.

"Is it rash to go to Major Fitz-David?" I asked.

"Yes--if you go by yourself. You don't know what sort of man heis; you don't know how he may receive you. Let me try first, andpave the way, as the saying is. Trust my experience, my dear. Inmatters of this sort there is nothing like paving the way."

I considered a moment. It was due to my good friend to considerbefore I said No.

Reflection decided me on taking the responsibility, whatever itmight be, upon my own shoulders. Good or bad, compassionate orcruel, the Major was a man. A woman's influence was the safestinfluence to trust with him, where the end to be gained was suchan end as I had in view. It was not easy to say this to Benjaminwithout the danger of mortifying him. I made an appointment withthe old man to call on me the next morning at the hotel, and talkthe matter over again. Is it very disgraceful to me to add that Iprivately determined (if the thing could be accomplished) to seeMajor Fitz-David in the interval?

"Do nothing rash, my dear. In your own interests, do nothingrash!"

Those were Benjamin's last words when we parted for the day.

I found Eustace waiting for me in our sitting-room at the hotel.His spirits seemed to have revived since I had seen him last. Headvanced to meet me cheerfully, with an open sheet of paper inhis hand.

"My business is settled, Valeria, sooner than I had expected," hebegan, gayly. "Are your purchases all completed, fair lady? Are_you_ free too?"

I had learned already (God help me!) to distrust his fits ofgayety. I asked, cautiously,

"Do you mean free for to-day?"

"Free for to-day, and to-morrow, and next week, and nextmonth--and next year too, for all I know to the contrary," heanswered, putting his arm boisterously round my waist. "Lookhere!"

He lifted the open sheet of paper which I had noticed in hishand, and held it for me to read. It was a telegram to thesailing-m aster of the yacht, informing him that we had arrangedto return to Ramsgate that evening, and that we should be readyto sail for the Mediterranean with the next tide.

"I only waited for your return," said Eustace, "to send thetelegram to the office."

He crossed the room as he spoke to ring the bell. I stopped him.

"I am afraid I can't go to Ramsgate to-day," I said.

"Why not?" he asked, suddenly changing his tone, and speakingsharply.

I dare say it will seem ridiculous to some people, but it isreally true that he shook my resolution to go to Major Fitz-Davidwhen he put his arm round me. Even a mere passing caress from_him_ stole away my heart, and softly tempted me to yield. Butthe ominous alteration in his tone made another woman of me. Ifelt once more, and felt more strongly than ever, that in mycritical position it was useless to stand still, and worse thanuseless to draw back.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," I answered. It is impossible forme (as I told you at Ramsgate) to be ready to sail at a moment'snotice. I want time."

"What for?"

Not only his tone, but his look, when he put that secondquestion, jarred on every nerve in me. He roused in my mind--Ican't tell how or why--an angry sense of the indignity that hehad put upon his wife in marrying her under a false name. Fearingthat I should answer rashly, that I should say something which mybetter sense might regret, if I spoke at that moment, I saidnothing. Women alone can estimate what it cost me to be silent.And men alone can understand how irritating my silence must havebeen to my husband.

"You want time?" he repeated. "I ask you again--what for?"

My self-control, pushed to its extremest limits, failed me. Therash reply flew out of my lips, like a bird set free from a cage.

"I want time," I said, "to accustom myself to my right name."

He suddenly stepped up to me with a dark look.

"What do you mean by your 'right name?'"

"Surely you know," I answered. "I once thought I was Mrs.Woodville. I have now discovered that I am Mrs. Macallan."

He started back at the sound of his own name as if I had struckhim--he started back, and turned so deadly pale that I feared hewas going to drop at my feet in a swoon. Oh, my tongue! mytongue! Why had I not controlled my miserable, mischievouswoman's tongue!

"I didn't mean to alarm you, Eustace," I said. "I spoke atrandom. Pray forgive me."

He waved his hand impatiently, as if my penitent words weretangible things--ruffling, worrying things, like flies insummer--which he was putting away from him.

"What else have you discovered?" he asked, in low, stern tones.

"Nothing, Eustace."

"Nothing?" He paused as he repeated the word, and passed his handover his forehead in a weary way. "Nothing, of course," heresumed, speaking to himself, "or she would not be here." Hepaused once more, and looked at me searchingly. "Don't say againwhat you said just now," he went on. "For your own sake, Valeria,as well as for mine." He dropped into the nearest chair, and saidno more.

I certainly heard the warning; but the only words which reallyproduced an impression on my mind were the words preceding it,which he had spoken to himself. He had said: "Nothing, of course,_or she could not be here."_ If I had found out some other truthbesides the truth about the name, would it have prevented me fromever returning to my husband? Was that what he meant? Did thesort of discovery that he contemplated mean something so dreadfulthat it would have parted us at once and forever? I stood by hischair in silence, and tried to find the answer to those terriblequestions in his face. It used to speak to me so eloquently whenit spoke of his love. It told me nothing now.

He sat for some time without looking at me, lost in his ownthoughts. Then he rose on a sudden and took his hat.

"The friend who lent me the yacht is in town," he said. "Isuppose I had better see him, and say our plans are changed." Hetore up the telegram with an air of sullen resignation as hespoke. "You are evidently determined not to go to sea with me,"he resumed. "We had better give it up. I don't see what else isto be done. Do you?"

His tone was almost a tone of contempt. I was too depressed aboutmyself, too alarmed about _him,_ to resent it.

"Decide as you think best, Eustace," I said, sadly. "Every way,the prospect seems a hopeless one. As long as I am shut out fromyour confidence, it matters little whether we live on land or atsea--we cannot live happily."

"If you could control your curiosity." he answered, sternly, "wemight live happily enough. I thought I had married a woman whowas superior to the vulgar failings of her sex. A good wifeshould know better than to pry into affairs of her husband's withwhich she had no concern."

Surely it was hard to bear this? However, I bore it.

"Is it no concern of mine?" I asked, gently, "when I find that myhusband has not married me under his family name? Is it noconcern of mine when I hear your mother say, in so many words,that she pities your wife? It is hard, Eustace, to accuse me ofcuriosity because I cannot accept the unendurable position inwhich you have placed me. Your cruel silence is a blight on myhappiness and a threat to my future. Your cruel silence isestranging us from each other at the beginning of our marriedlife. And you blame me for feeling this? You tell me I am pryinginto affairs which are yours only? They are _not_ yours only: Ihave my interest in them too. Oh, my darling, why do you triflewith our love and our confidence in each other? Why do you keepme in the dark?"

He answered with a stern and pitiless brevity,

"For your own good."

I turned away from him in silence. He was treating me like achild.

He followed me. Putting one hand heavily on my shoulder, heforced me to face him once more.

"Listen to this," he said. "What I am now going to say to you Isay for the first and last time. Valeria! if you ever discoverwhat I am now keeping from your knowledge--from that moment youlive a life of torture; your tranquillity is gone. Your days willbe days of terror; your nights will be full of horriddreams--through no fault of mine, mind! through no fault of mine!Every day of your life you will feel some new distrust, somegrowing fear of me, and you will be doing me the vilest injusticeall the time. On my faith as a Christian, on my honor as a man,if you stir a step further in this matter, there is an end toyour happiness for the rest of your life! Think seriously of whatI have said to you; you will have time to reflect. I am going totell my friend that our plans for the Mediterranean are given up.I shall not be back before the evening." He sighed, and looked atme with unutterable sadness. "I love you, Valeria," he said. "Inspite of all that has passed, as God is my witness, I love youmore dearly than ever."

So he spoke. So he left me.

I must write the truth about myself, however strange it mayappear. I don't pretend to be able to analyze my own motives; Idon't pretend even to guess how other women might have acted inmy place. It is true of me, that my husband's terriblewarning--all the more terrible in its mystery and itsvagueness--produced no deterrent effect on my mind: it onlystimulated my resolution to discover what he was hiding from me.He had not been gone two minutes before I rang the bell andordered the carriage, to take me to Major Fitz-David's house inVivian Place.

Walking to and fro while I was waiting--I was in such a fever ofexcitement that it was impossible for me to sit still--Iaccidentally caught sight of myself in the glass.

My own face startled me, it looked so haggard and so wild. CouldI present myself to a stranger, could I hope to produce thenecessary impression in my favor, looking as I looked at thatmoment? For all I knew to the contrary, my whole future mightdepend upon the effect which I produced on Major Fitz-David atfirst sight. I rang the bell again, and sent a message to one ofthe chambermaids to follow me to my room.

I had no maid of my own with me: the stewardess of the yachtwould have acted as myattendant if we had held to our first arrangement. It matteredlittle, so long as I had a woman to help me. The chambermaidappeared. I can give no better idea of the disordered anddesperate condition of my mind at that time than by owning that Iactually consulted this perfect stranger on the question of mypersonal appearance. She was a middle-aged woman, with a largeexperience of the world and its wickedness written legibly on hermanner and on her face. I put money into the woman's hand, enoughof it to surprise her. She thanked me with a cynical smile,evidently placing her own evil interpretation on my motive forbribing her.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?" she asked, in a confidentialwhisper. "Don't speak loud! there is somebody in the next room."

"I want to look my best," I said, "and I have sent for you tohelp me."

"I understand, ma'am."

"What do you understand?"

She nodded her head significantly, and whispered to me again."Lord bless you, I'm used to this!" she said. "There is agentleman in the case. Don't mind me, ma'am. It's a way I have. Imean no harm." She stopped, and looked at me critically. "Iwouldn't change my dress if I were you," she went on. "The colorbecomes you."

It was too late to resent the woman's impertinence. There was nohelp for it but to make use of her. Besides, she was right aboutthe dress. It was of a delicate maize-color, prettily trimmedwith lace. I could wear nothing which suited me better. My hair,however, stood in need of some skilled attention. The chambermaidrearranged it with a ready hand which showed that she was nobeginner in the art of dressing hair. She laid down the combs andbrushes, and looked at me; then looked at the toilet-table,searching for something which she apparently failed to find.

"Where do you keep it?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at your complexion, ma'am. You will frighten him if he seesyou like that. A touch of color you _must_ have. Where do youkeep it? What! you haven't got it? you never use it? Dear, dear,dear me!"

For a moment surprise fairly deprived her of her self-possession.Recovering herself, she begged permission to leave me for aminute. I let her go, knowing what her errand was. She came backwith a box of paint and powders; and I said nothing to check her.I saw, in the glass, my skin take a false fairness, my cheeks afalse color, my eyes a false brightness--and I never shrank fromit. No! I let the odious conceit go on; I even admired theextraordinary delicacy and dexterity with which it was all done."Anything" (I thought to myself, in the madness of that miserabletime) "so long as it helps me to win the Major's confidence!Anything, so long as I discover what those last words of myhusband's really mean!"

The transformation of my face was accomplished. The chambermaidpointed with her wicked forefinger in the direction of the glass.

"Bear in mind, ma'am, what you looked like when you sent for me,"she said. "And just see for yourself how you look now. You're theprettiest woman (of your style) in London. Ah what a thingpearl-powder is, when one knows how to use it!"