Mr. Sardonyx departed. Mr. Walraven saw his wife safely conveyed to her room and left in charge of her maid, and then returned to the dining-room.
Mollie's first act was to hold out both hands, with infinite grace and courtesy, to Hugh Ingelow.
"Mr. Ingelow, words are poor and weak to tell you how I thank you. I have not deserved it from you. I can only ask you to try and forgive me."
The young artist lifted the fair little hands to his lips.
"I am repaid ten thousand-fold," he said, quietly. "I would give my life to serve you."
"In the name of Heaven, Mollie," cried the nearly frantic master of the house, "what does all this extraordinary mystery mean?"
"It means that a terrible crime has been committed, guardy," Mollie replied, gravely, "and that your wife and her cousin are among the chief conspirators. Sit down and I will tell you the whole story. Sir Roger Trajenna, likewise. I owe you both a full explanation. Mr. Ingelow knows already."
She sat down before them, and beginning at the beginning, told them the whole story—her forced and mysterious marriage and its very unpleasant sequel.
"That I ever escaped," she concluded, "I owe, under Providence, to Mr. Ingelow. Guardy, I would have spared you if I could; but, you see, it was impossible. Of course, we won't prosecute your wife or her cousin. I am almost satisfied, now, that I know I am not Guy Oleander's wretched wife."
"But, heavens above, Mollie Dane!" cried the bewildered Mr. Walraven, "whose wife are you?"