it, and it shall not be. I am not your wife save by the law; and
little have you cared for law! Little, too, would the law help you
in this now; for which you will rejoice. For the ease of your mind
I hasten to tell you why.

First let me inform you that none in this land knows me to be your
wife. Your letter to my grandfather never reached him, and to this
hour I have held my peace. The clergyman who married us is a
prisoner among the French, and the strong-box which held the
register of St. Michael's Church was stolen. The one other witness,
Mr. Shoreham, your lieutenant--as you tell me--went down with the
Araminta. So you are safe in your denial of me. For me, I would
endure all the tortures of the world rather than call you husband
ever again. I am firmly set to live my own life, in my own way,
with what strength God gives. At last I see beyond the Hedge.

Your course is clear. You cannot turn back now. You have gone too
far. Your new honours and titles were got at the last by a
falsehood. To acknowledge it would be ruin, for all the world knows
that Captain Philip d'Avranche of the King's navy is now the adopted
son of the Duc de Bercy. Surely the house of Bercy has cause for
joy, with an imbecile for the first in succession and a traitor for
the second!

I return the fifty pounds you sent me--you will not question why
....And so all ends. This is a last farewell between us.

Do you remember what you said to me on the Ecrehos? "If ever I
deceive you, may I die a black, dishonourable death, abandoned and
alone. I should deserve that if ever I deceived you, Guida."