“Yes, yes!” cried Gertrude; and then wildly, “Tell me, it is not true? You—you—cannot be his wife!”
“The parson said I was when we were married—Mrs Frank Riversley.”
“Ah!” cried Gertrude joyously. “Sometimes,” continued the woman, as if she enjoyed torturing her rival; “lately he has called himself John Huish—since he has neglected me so much to go to clubs and chambers.”
“Oh!” sighed Gertrude.
“But I never complained.”
“I cannot bear this,” moaned Gertrude to herself; and then, fighting down the emotion, she crept upon her knees to the woman and clasped her hand.
“Let me go,” she moaned. “Let me get away from here, and I will bless you. Ask anything of me you like, and it shall be yours, only get me away.”
“You don’t want to go,” said the woman mockingly. “It’s all a sham.”
“How can I prove to you that I mean it?” cried Gertrude.
“I don’t know; I only know that if I did he would kill me.”