“So—to see you again, Mr Stratton,” she whispered, with the “glad” inaudible, but it was of no consequence, being quite out of place.
He shook hands with her mechanically, but he did not seem to see her or hear her words, and she caught Guest’s arm.
“Get him away,” she whispered. “It was madness. Pray go, for everyone’s sake.”
Guest nodded, took his friend’s arm, and the pair walked slowly away in silence till Stratton uttered a low, strange laugh, and as Guest met his wild eyes:
“No, old fellow,” he said quietly. “I am not going mad—unless it was madness to obey the promptings of my poor, weak nature. Better come with me to my rooms, for something seems to keep on asking me if life is not all one great mistake.”
Meanwhile at Miss Jerrold’s house, the moment the door was closed, Myra had caught wildly at her cousin’s hand.
“Quick!” she cried in a hoarse whisper, “take me to our room,” and with wild energy she hurried her cousin upstairs to close and lock the door before she gave vent to the wild, hysterical burst of agony that was struggling for exit.
“So cruel—so heartless,” she sobbed as she paced the floor, wringing her hands and rejecting every attempt at consolation on her cousin’s part. “He must have known. Oh, it’s maddening.”
“Myra, be calm, be calm.”
“Calm!” cried Myra wildly, “it is not possible. Do you think me made of stone instead of flesh and blood like yourself? You—my father—my aunt—all treat me as if I were a child whom a word or two will set free. I tell you again I am that man’s wife. In my weakness and folly, blind to what I called my duty, I went headlong into that gulf of despair. I swore before the altar to be his wife till death should us part. It is my fate, and there can be no change.”