A Woman Martyr

								

"Don’t do that, or the Bobby will think you are drunk," he said,
coarsely, holding her up by the arm.  His detested touch achieved what
her slackening courage had failed to do.  She felt suddenly strong with
a new, fierce emotion--was it hate?
"I cannot understand how you can be well off--or, indeed, how you can be
here at all," she softly began, as the policeman marched solemnly on
before them, the light of one of the occasional lamps gleaming on his
wet weather cape.  "I thought----"
"You mean, your old nurse thought!" he went on angrily.  "You--you were
not capable of suspecting me, if that old wretch had not put it into
your head!  My love, I was a victim of circumstances.  The people I was
with were a rotten lot.  They accused me to protect themselves.  They
were bankrupt three years ago!  Mercier was not my real name.  My father
was Victor Mercier a’Court.  It suited me to use it, that’s all!
What--you don’t believe me?"
"You told me lies then--why should I believe you?" she boldly said.
"Because you are my wife!  It will not pay me to tell you untruths--nor
will it pay you to doubt me!" he savagely retorted. "I had expected a
welcome!  Instead, I am treated like this!  It is enough to exasperate a
saint--and I don’t profess to be that!  Come, let us talk business, as
you don’t feel inclined for love.  You are mine, and I mean to have you.
You understand? I have waited for you all these years, and precious hard
work it has been, I can tell you, for plenty of girls as good-looking as
you made a dead set at me--and girls with loads of oof, too!  If I don’t
get you by fair means, I will have you by foul--it is for you to select.
By Jingo, it would serve you right if I went to that wretched uncle of
yours to-morrow, and claimed you!"
She stopped short and confronted him. The moon, breaking through the
driving clouds, shone full on her face.  Beautiful, corpse-like in its
sombre, set expression, there was that in her great, shining eyes which
gave him, hardened worldling though he was, a slight shock.  He felt he
had gone too far.
"Drop the tragedy queen, do, and be my own little darling once more!" he
wheedled, and would have embraced her, but she slid away as he
approached.
"Listen!" she began, in clear, determined tones, in which there was
neither fear nor hesitation, "unless you treat me with consideration,
decency, respect--unless you can give me time to arrange matters so that
to avow myself your--wife--will not ruin me, body and soul, I swear
before God that I will put a barrier between myself and you which will
separate us for ever."
"Pah, pah, pah, spitfire!" he sarcastically said, swinging his umbrella
and beginning to walk onward.  "I know what you mean!  You have some
romantic idea of suicide.  You are not the kind of girl who kills
herself, I can tell you that--so that threat won’t hold water with me.
Come now, don’t let us waste time quarrelling. What do you propose to