The words filled Audrey with unspeakable horror. For even while she would have contradicted, have protested, have scouted the idea presented to her, there rose up in her mind the terrible fear that it was a true one! Had she not tried already more than once to escape from the net, and had she not always been brought back, surely yet so gently that she was hardly aware of the compelling force at all?
She burst out into violence, clenching her teeth.
“I will escape,” she said. “I will not continue my acquaintance with a man whom I know to be wicked!”
The stranger laughed again.
“You have only my word for it, you know, the word of a woman who has been declared mad! Better forget what I have said, or disregard it, and go on as if nothing had happened to open your eyes even the least bit. You can do no good by protesting, and may do yourself harm. You little guess how strong the forces are which you would have to fight against.”
But there she was wrong. Gradually Audrey’s instincts had been telling her what her visitor now openly confirmed, and the knowledge of the strength of the organisation she would have to contend against was growing every moment more profound.
“Where shall you go,” she asked abruptly, “when you leave here? You want me to write to you. Where shall I write to? And how shall I address you?”
The visitor replied after a moment’s hesitation; perhaps some lingering doubts of Audrey still had to be overcome or some suspicion as to whether Eugène’s influence might not be strong enough to extract from this beautiful, gentle-mannered woman the information he might want about his hated wife.
At last, however, she made up her mind suddenly, and answered:—
“I am living in Hertfordshire with a maiden sister, and openly under the name in which Eugène married me—Mrs. Reynolds. I’ve lived there nearly six months now, ever since I got away from the asylum. Probably the asylum people haven’t told him of my escape, and are still taking the money for my maintenance. At any rate I’ve been so cautious in my inquiries to find out him and my daughters, that I don’t think he knows where I am. Now he will find out of course. I’ve no doubt there are spies in this house who will inform him of my visit. But,” she added with confidence, “as I’ve been living in freedom for so long, it would take some formalities to get me back again, and—well, I can afford to risk it. I’ve learnt something about my girls, and I have, I hope, found that they’ve got a friend.”