"Never!" I cried, clenching my fists; "never! You must leave me; no one must know Charmian Brown ever existed—you must go!"
"Hush!" she whispered, clasping me tighter, "listen—some one is coming!" Away to the right, we could hear the leaves rustling, as though a strong wind passed through them; a light flickered, went out, flickered again, and a voice hailed faintly:
"Hallo!"
"Come," said Charmian, clasping my hand, "let us go and meet him."
"No, Charmian, no—I must see this man—alone. You must leave here, to-night—now. You can catch the London Mail at the cross roads. Go to Blackheath—to Sir Richard Anstruther—he is my friend—tell him everything—"
She was down at my feet, and had caught my hand to her bosom.
"I can't!" she cried, "I can't go—and leave you here alone. I have loved you so—from the very first, and it seems that each day my love has grown until it is part of me. Oh, Peter!—don't send me away from you—it will kill me, I think—"
"Better that than the shame of a prison!" I exclaimed, and, while I spoke, I lifted her in my arms. "Oh!—I am proud—proud to have won such a love as yours—let me try to be worthy of it. Good-by, my beloved!" and so I kissed her, and would have turned away, but her arms clung about me.
"Oh, Peter!" she sobbed, "if you must go—if you will go, call me—your wife—just once, Peter."
The hovering light was much nearer now, and the rustle of leaves louder, as I stooped above her cold hands, and kissed their trembling fingers.