"That is a lie!" cried Beatrice before Vivian could speak. "Mr. Paslow was with me on that night, and about the time the crime was committed."
"Oh!" sneered the woman, seizing her advantage, "Vivian was with you, indeed? And what would be said were that known, Miss Hall, as you call yourself?"
"Be silent," said her husband, catching her arm in an iron grip, and his face whiter than that of the dead; "you shameless creature! Go away at once, and cease your insults."
"Leave me alone!" cried Mrs. Paslow, wrenching herself free. "I intend to stop in my own house."
"My house--not yours."
"I am your wife."
"And just now you confessed to a feigned death to commit bigamy? I have a great mind to give my lawyers instructions to apply for a divorce."
"Give them to Tuft, then," cried Mrs. Paslow, her fair face convulsed with fury. "He is Alpenny's lawyer, and knows all about me, and all about you. See! see!"--she pointed a mocking finger at Vivian who had turned away with a gesture of despair--"he dare not face the law!"
"If you mean that you will denounce him for having killed Mr. Alpenny," said Beatrice in a clear low voice, "you are wrong. I can clear Mr. Paslow's character. I can save him, and I will!"
"Indeed! Why?"