"But—you have forgotten—I may meet him. That"—her lips quivering—"I could not bear."
"No danger at all. You will not go there until they are off on their wedding tour. They do not return until May. In five months, judiciously made use of, great things may happen."
She rose up, with a long, weary-worn sigh.
"I am in your hands, Mr. Liston. Friendless, moneyless, helpless, I suppose I ought to thank you for this, but—I cannot. I know it is not for my sake you are doing it, but for the sake of your revenge. Say what you like of me when we go to New York; I am ready to follow where you lead. Just now I am tired—we will not talk any more. Let us say good-night."
She gave him her hand; it was like ice. He let it fall uneasily.
"And you will not fail me?" he asked.
"I shall not fail you," she answered. In what either said, it was not necessary. They understood—revenge upon Laurence Thorndyke.
"To-morrow at twelve I will call for you here to take the train for New York. You will be ready?"
"I will be ready." The door closed behind the small white figure, and he was alone.
Alone, and he had not told her the truth, that in his opinion the marriage was legal.