possibly she had been the cause of the grossest wrong to an injured
wife. And there was ground in reason for such a fear, for it seemed
difficult to believe that any claim short of that of a wife could have
frightened Sir David into such a course. The other and more common view,
that it was because he had loved his mistress throughout, did not appeal
to her. Vice had for her few recognisable features; she had no map for
the country of passion, no precedents to refer to. It seemed to Rose
most probable that Sir David had believed his first wife to be dead
when he married her; that, on finding he was mistaken, his courage had
failed, and that he had carried on a gigantic scheme of bribery to
prevent her coming forward. This view was in one sense a degree less
painful, as it would make him innocent of the first great deception, the
huge lie of making love to her as if he were a free man. The depths and
extent of her misery could be measured by the strange sense of a bitter
gladness invading the very recesses of her maternal instinct, and
replacing what had been the heartfelt sorrow of six years. "It is a
mercy I have no child!" she cried, and the cry seemed to herself almost
blasphemous.

When she came out of the church it was raining, and the wind blowing. It
was only a short walk to her own house, and she and her mother had made
a rule not to take out servants and the carriage for their devotions.
She would have walked on in total silence, but her mother could not bear
the suspense.

"Rose, what is it?" she cried, in a tone of authority and intense
anxiety. After all it might be easier to answer now as they battled with
the rain.

"I don't know how to tell you, mother. Mr. Murray has been with me and