“Then—then you knew that she was carrying on with this man,” he cried savagely, neither of us seeing that Mary had come to, and was watching us with distended eyes.
“No, no, Hallett,” I cried. “I did not—indeed, I did not; I only knew it was he who so beat poor Revitts.”
“Who was he—what’s his name?” cried Mary, seizing my other arm, and shaking it.
“I don’t know; I never knew,” I cried, faring badly between them. “Linny begged me, on her knees, not to tell that it was her friend who beat Revitts when he interfered, and when she promised me she would always obey you, Hallett, I said I would keep her secret.”
“Then Linny was the girl poor Revitts saved,” said Hallett hoarsely.
“Yes!” cried Mary. “The villain! he likes her pretty face. I was right; and I’ve been a fool to faint and go on. But that’s over now,” she cried savagely. “I’ll wait here till he does come back; for I’m his lawful wife; and when he does come—Oh!”
Mary uttered that “Oh!” through her closed teeth, and all the revenge that was in her nature seemed to come to the surface, while Hallett walked up and down the room.
“You have no idea, Antony, who he is?”
“No, on my word, Hallett,” I cried; “I never knew. Pray forgive me! I thought it was for the best.”
“Yes, yes, lad,” he said; “you did it from kindness. It has made no difference. I could not have borne it for you to deceive me, Antony,” he said, with a sweet, sad smile lighting his face as I caught his hand. “Come, let us go. Mary, my good soul, you are labouring under a mistake. Good-night!”