“By whom?”
“By my husband, to whose house I must now be going.”
For a few moments there was silence, then Joan spoke again:—
“I forgot, Henry: I have something to give you that you may like to keep,” and she took a tiny packet from her breast.
“What is it?” he said, shrinking back a little.
“Only—a lock of the—baby’s hair.” And she kissed it and gave it to him.
He placed the paper in his purse calmly enough. Then he broke down.
“Oh! my God,” he said, with a groan, “forgive me, but this is more than I can bear.”
Another second, and they were sobbing in each other’s arms, seeing nothing of a man, with a face made devilish by hate and jealousy, who craned his head forward to watch them from the shelter of a thick bush some few yards away.