By this time Major Ashton had partially recovered his self-possession. He meant to fight it out if possible.
"How did you escape from the asylum?" he asked.
"From the asylum!" repeated his wife. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Sheldon," said the major, turning to his affianced bride, "I am sorry you have been disturbed by a madwoman. This lady is my sister. For years she has been confined in a mad-house. She is under the singular delusion that she is my wife, and she may have told you so."
Mrs. Sheldon looked relieved, but it was only for a moment. She remembered the certificate.
"I have seen your marriage certificate," she said.
"A forged paper," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
"Mrs. Sheldon," said the wife, "I beg of you not to believe him. He has no sister, and I have heard him say he never had any. Of my marriage I can call living witnesses, but it will take time. If, however, you will telegraph to my father in San Francisco, you will have speedy proof of the falsehood of his assertions."
"I believe you," said the widow. "I do not think you would deceive me."
"Then you choose to be humbugged by a madwoman?" said Major Ashton. "Have you no more confidence in me?"