From the moment that Ida had learned through Miss Fernly's letter how Hildegarde Cramer had mourned for her lover, the young wife's life had become very unhappy.

She knew well that she stood between Hildegarde[197] Cramer and her happiness. She had done her best to die, but Heaven had not so willed it.

The pity of it was that her love for Eugene Mallard had increased a hundred fold. It was driving her to madness.

"Oh, if it were all ended!" she cried aloud. "Better anything than this awful despair!"

No one heard her. There was no one near to hear what she moaned out to the brook that kept so many secrets.

She heard a crash in the branches near by—a slight crash, but she started. It was only a bird that had fallen from its nest in the tree overhead, she told herself.

But even after she had said it she felt a sense of uncontrollable terror that she could not account for; felt the weight of some strange presence.

That voice!

When Ida cried aloud in her despair, the words fell like an electric shock upon the ears of a man who listened behind the alder branches.

"By all that is wonderful!" he cried, under his breath. "Either my ears have deceived me, or that is the voice of Ida May! Well, well! Will surprises never cease?"

He stepped quickly forward, and the next moment he was by her side. How strange it was that at that instant the moon came out from behind a cloud and rendered every object as bright as if in the noonday sun.

At the sound of the step, Ida started back in affright.

One glance into the face looking down into her own and she started back with a cry that was scarcely human.

"You!" she gasped.

Then her lips grew cold and stiff. She could not utter another word.

"The surprise is mutual!" he answered. "What in the name of all that is wonderful are you doing in this house? Come, my dear, let us sit down on this log while you explain matters."

Ida drew back in loathing.

"Stand back!" she cried. "Do not attempt to touch me, or I shall cry out for help!"

[198]

A fierce imprecation broke from the man's lips.

"What do you mean by all this high and mighty nonsense?" he cried. "Speak at once. You are my wife! Why shouldn't I lay hands on you?"

"No!" she cried. "Though you have so cruelly deceived me, I thank God that I am not your wife."

He threw back his fair, handsome head, and a laugh that was not pleasant to hear fell from his lips.

"Don't make any mistake about that!" he cried. "I remember what I wrote you—that there was some illegality in the ceremony which made our marriage invalid. But I learned afterward, when I met the chap who performed the ceremony, that it was entirely legal. If you doubt that what I say is true, I can easily convince you of the truth of my assertion."

Ida drew back with a cry so awful that he looked at her.

............