"Father brought me back from France—where we had gone on our brief honeymoon—when the money was spent.... Dorothy ... she was handed a sum of money.... She took it hanging round my neck with the wails of a broken heart. I didn't suspect—about the money, and I swore I'd return when I could keep her.... You see, I had been trained to no profession. I'd been to a Public School, an expensive and exclusive one ... and they—that kind—do nothing to correct a foolish lad's sense of proportion. I was one of a vast body over there whose only profession is to uphold the family traditions and to spend. That meant the Army—or the Church....
"The longer I was kept from her, the more madly I thought I loved her.... Yes—the more I loved her. I want to be square: I did love her. One night I could stand it no longer. I stole away from the house.... I remember how I thrilled at the sight of the lights of her father's inn. I pictured her joy at sight of me. I swore to myself never to leave her again. There would be some way of making a home for the rest of our lives. You see, I didn't know then she had taken the money. I crept up to the inn through the darkness, partly to surprise her, partly that inquisitive eyes might not carry back the story to my father. Nine out of ten of the neighbourhood would have leaped at the opportunity of winning father's favour...
"I found her almost as I had pictured her—leaning on the gate ... almost ... almost ... She was not alone...."
Mary Aikens was listening with drumming ears. "You are not my wife—you are not my wife!" It kept ringing down everything else, so that she heard him only as against a strong wind that steals words and phrases.
"There was a man with her.... I heard what they were saying.... I followed them...."
His voice trailed off to a whisper; his unseeing eyes stared far through the paper spread on his knee.
"When he was gone I—I took her by the throat—I was a big, strong fellow even then—and I squeezed—squeezed—squeezed. I could feel her breath bubbling through my fingers ... and then it ceased.... I flung her on the ground and ran. I told father. He crammed all the money he had in my pocket and started me off for Liverpool.... I turned up here in Canada as Jim Aikens....
"There isn't much more. Father kept me supplied with money through a firm of Winnipeg lawyers. There has been no stinting—the name of Cathers must never be sullied again—so long as I stayed away.
"For years I thought I had killed her—my wife. Not a word in all that time have I heard directly from home. I dared not write for fear my letters would be traced, and neither father nor mother have written me—ever told me Dorothy did not die. Until a year after I married you I thought I was free to marry."
Her hands fell from her face, a gasp of relief broke from her. He understood.