"Why, yes,—I—"
"But you said there might be one exception—"
"Yes, I remember. Squire Bullcott, a Somerset gentleman. I owe him a very bitter revenge."
"Well, then,—if revenge and—love—both pointed to the same thing,—what then?"
He looked at her a moment; while she stood crimson, motionless, scarcely breathing, her eyes averted. Then he let go her hand.
"My God, madam, does it mean that you are—Mr. Bullcott's wife?"
"Yes," and now she spoke with rapidity and more force, "and that I have endured such treatment from him as I could bear no longer. Insolence, blows, neglect, imprisonment even, for he is as jealous as he is faithless, and has tried to hide me from all society, having me guarded by brutal servants of his own choosing, making me a captive in my own apartments, and keeping me under lock and key while he pursued his amours elsewhere. What could I do? I was an only child, without near relations: my parents died soon after arranging my marriage, which was against my own wishes. At last I learned, through some careless talk of my husband's, that Celestine was at Bath. She was my only friend. I contrived to get a letter to her, and she planned my escape. She waited at night in a private coach, near Bullcott Hall, while I got out of the house in the clothes of a chambermaid who was asleep. I ran to a place she had appointed, and there I found her footman on the park wall, with a ladder; he helped me across, and to her coach. We took a roundabout way to the London road, so as to avoid Bath; and when you met us we were on our way to Celestine's house in Oxfordshire, intending I should keep concealed there, for I am determined to die rather than go back to my husband!"
She now stood silent, as if she had placed the situation and herself in Wetheral's hands, to dispose of as he might choose. Manifestly she had met very few men, seen nothing of the world; she was still a child, ready to entrust her whole destiny to the first flatterer whose tender speeches had won her heart.
Dick was not slow in making up his mind.
"You spoke of love and revenge, madam," said he, gently. "They are strong passions, and I have been strongly urged by them the last few moments. But we will resist them,—not for his sake, but for yours—and mine. Before you start for Oxfordshire, I shall have started for London. I wish you a pleasant and safe journey, and a long and happy life. Good-by!"