child-bearing--he deserted and left me almost penniless. You needn't think
you will have to take my word for this. I have proof enough. And now, Henry
Ferguson, I've a few words for you, and then you must take your choice. You
can't escape. I and my brother have tracked you here. You can't leave these
rooms without going to prison. You'd be taken at the very door. But I give
you one more chance. If you will promise before God to do your duty by me and
your child, I'll forgive as far as a wronged woman can forgive. Neither I nor
my brother will take proceedings against you. What this woman will do I don't
know. If she prosecutes you, and you are true to me, I'll stand by you, but I
won't stand another false step or a false word from you."

Ferguson had again sunk into his chair, buried his face in his hands, and sat
trembling and speechless. Never for an instant had Alida taken her eyes from
him; and now, with a long, wailing cry, she exclaimed, "Thank God, thank God!
Mother's dead."

This was now her best consolation. She rushed into her bedchamber, and a
moment later came out, wearing her hat and cloak. Ferguson started up and was
about to speak, but she silenced him by a gesture, and her tones were sad and
stern as she said, "Mr. Ferguson, from your manner more truly than from this
woman, I learn the truth. You took advantage of my misfortunes, my sorrow and
friendlessness, to deceive me. You know how false are your wife's words about
my eagerness to be deceived and married. But you have nothing to fear from
me. I shall not prosecute you as she suggests, and I charge you before God to
do your duty by your wife and child and never to speak to me again." Turning,
she hastened toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Ferguson exclaimed, seeking to intercept her.

She waved him off. "I don't know," she replied. "I've no right to be here,"