She appeared at the door, waiting to hear what he had to say to
her.

"I must ask you to submit to a sacrifice of your own feelings,"
he began. "When I kept away from you in the drawing room, last
night--when my strange conduct made you fear that you had
offended me--I was trying to remember what I owed to my good
wife. I have been thinking of her again. We must spare her a
discovery too terrible to be endured, while her attention is
claimed by the guests who are now in the house. In a week's time
they will leave us. Will you consent to keep up appearances? Will
you live with us as usual, until we are left by ourselves?"

"It shall be done, Mr. Linley. I only ask one favor of you. My
worst enemy is my own miserable wicked heart. Oh, don't you
understand me? I am ashamed to look at you!"

He had only to examine his own heart, and to know what she meant.
"Say no more," he answered sadly. "We will keep as much away from
each other as we can."

She shuddered at that open recognition of the guilty love which
united them, in spite of their horror of it, and took refuge from
him in the summer-house. Not a word more passed between them
until the unbarring of doors was heard in the stillness of the
morning, and the smoke began to rise from the kitchen chimney.
Then he returned, and spoke to her.

"You can get back to the house," he said. "Go up by the front
stairs, and you will not meet the servants at this early hour. If