'I will tell you exactly how and when I met him. Do you remember three weeks ago, that Sunday evening when we were so happy and so miserable—resolved on braving everything—going to live on love and a crust for the rest of our lives?—you poor, dear, brave girl!' He touched her fingers. 'I shall always be thankful for that prospect of poverty, because it revealed my mistress to me in all her loveliness of love and trust and courage.'
'Oh, George—you spoil me. But then I know myself better.'
'Well—on that evening we went to Church together; and after Church, as I was not allowed in the house, we walked round and round the Square until the rain came on, and we had to go home. Well, you did not take any notice; but as you stood on the steps waiting for the door to be opened, a man was standing on the kerb under the lamp close by. When the door was shut behind you, I turned and walked away. This man followed me and clapped me on the shoulder. It was Athelstan.'
'And I saw him and did not know him!'
'He has grown a big beard now, and wore a felt hat. He is a picturesque object to look at. Ought to have been one of Drake's men. I daresay he was in a former existence. He had then been in England exactly a week, and every day he had prowled about the place in the hope of seeing you—not speaking to you—he trusted that you would not know him again.'
'Oh, poor Athelstan! That is nearly three weeks ago. He has been in England four weeks—a month—and three—four—five months ago—where was he?'
'I told you. In California.'
'Oh! then he could not—possibly—not possibly—and it can be proved—and oh! George—George—I am so glad—I am so glad.' She showed her joy by a light shower of tears.
'Why, my dear,' he said, soothing her, 'why are you so troubled and yet so glad?'
'You don't quite understand, George. You don't know the things that are said. All these forgeries are in the same handwriting.'