As water to wine were all the uses of his life henceforth, compared with that which might have been.
But, sad as he was, if Lettice could have read within his heart she would have been satisfied with her work.
CHAPTER XXIII.
"AM I A MURDERER?"
Footsteps outside his door roused Alan from his train of thoughts. Only his landlady came along that passage, for there were no lodgers on the same floor, nor on the one above it. A louder knock than Mrs. Gorman was wont to give made him start from his seat.
"Come in!" he cried; but before the words were spoken the door was thrown open and Cora made her appearance. Alan turned sick at heart, and stood leaning on the end of the mantelpiece, gazing at her without a word.
"Ah, my dear," she said, with a little laugh of amusement as she saw the disconcerted look on his face, "they have not deceived me! They did not offer to conduct me, but they said I should find you here—first floor front—and here you are! It is long since we met, is it not? You have sent huissiers, and gendarmes, and police to bring me your messages, as a king to his subject, or a judge to a criminal. You should have come yourself, my friend, for I have longed to see you. Are you not glad that we meet thus, alone, face to face, without fear of intrusion?"
She had shut the door behind her, and sat down in his easy chair by the table, inviting him with a gesture to take a seat by her side.
"Approach!" she said, in a soft but mocking voice. "Be amiable! Let us talk. I come for peace, not for war. Let us make terms with each other. I am sick of this farce of hostility between husband and wife—let us arrange our little disagreements. Come!"