“Oh no, no; he dare not touch you. Come with me, then, and I’ll see that you are not hurt.”
“Are you in earnest? Better not. I ought to be in bed now—sick almost to death. Better stay,” she said mockingly. “This may kill me. I hope it will, and then you can be happy—with him!”
“No! no! no!” cried Gertrude wildly. “Never again. I did not know. It is too dreadful! Woman, if you hope for mercy at the last, help me to get away before I see that man again.”
“That man? that man?”
“No, no,” cried Gertrude wildly. “I cannot explain. It is too dreadful! He is not my husband. He is like him, but he is not him. I don’t know what I am saying. I cannot explain it. Only for God’s sake get me away from here, or I shall go mad!”
The woman stood gazing at her piercingly as Gertrude cast herself at her feet.
“You do mean it, then?” she said at last.
“Mean it? Yes. I have been deceived—cheated. This man is—Oh! I don’t know—I don’t know,” she cried wildly; “but pray help me, and let me go!”
The woman gazed down at her for a few moments longer, and then said huskily, “Come!”
Gertrude caught at the hand held forth to her, and suffered herself to be led out on to the landing, and then slowly down the dark stairs of the old City mansion in which they were, till they stood in the narrow hall, where, reaching up, the woman thrust her hand into a niche and drew out a key, and then set down and blew out the light.