Every tender feeling of his nature went out in that last agonizing cry. For the first time he realised all that this woman had been to him, how completely she had woven herself with his life, and what a terrible blank it would become if he were forced to tear her from it.
He made an effort to check those black thoughts, to invent excuses; he was almost inclined to rush into the house, beg for the truth and promise pardon in advance. Then he called himself a weak fool for the idea that any excuse was possible.
"I will wait—I have the clue—it will all be made clear soon. I will wait."
He clenched his hands with a groan that was half anguish, half rage, and hurried more swiftly into the depths of the woods.
He came out upon a little eminence, from whence he could look down on the paths and avenues leading towards the house, though the dwelling itself was hidden by the thick growth of trees.
Along the high road he saw his wife riding at full speed toward the woods, through which she passed with weary slowness, walking her horse homeward, and looking anxiously down upon his reeking sides, and smoothing his neck with her hand, as if troubled by those signs of hard riding.
Where had the woman been? What deception was she practising now?
Mellen could see his wife's face plainly—for she passed near him quite unconsciously. It was pale and wild with the fear of a hunted animal.
"Traitoress!" he muttered between his teeth, "she thinks to evade me."
He watched the slow progress of Gipsy as she walked toward the house, taking the lawn, evidently because her rider feared to give warning of her expedition by the sound of hoofs on the beaten track. He saw Elizabeth dismount unaided, and go wearily into the house.