“Oh, he's in perfect health. Don't be alarmed. I only don't want us to be interrupted by Sir Oliver or Lady Blount. Do come with me. I assure you it's something quite important.”
She moved in the direction of the lone path, and Stella, drawn against her will, followed. They, reached the seat. Below sank sheer cliff to the rocks on the shore. Above sheer cliff rose to the crest on which stood the Channel House. The sea sparkled in the sunshine. In the far distance a great steamer, her two funnels plumed with gray, sped majestically down Channel. The woman looked about her with nervous swiftness. They were out of sight of human creature. Then she turned, and the cold face changed, and Stella shrank from its sudden malignity. The woman clutched the girl by her arm.
“Now, my lady, do you know who I am?”
“No,” said Stella, shrinking back terrified, and striving to wrench herself free.
“I am John Risca's wife.”
Stella looked at her for an agonized moment, then, as white as paper, collapsed on the seat, the woman still gripping her arm.
“John—married—you—his wife!” she stammered incoherently.
Louisa Risca bent down and scrutinized the white face.
“Do you mean to say you did n't know?”
Stella shook her head in frightened negation. Her ignorance was obvious, even to the criminal woman now on the point of carrying out the fixed idea of years. Gradually the grasp on her arm relaxed, and the woman stood upright.