“Oh, be sure that he didn’t marry her from any principle of honour, my dear sir,” replied the Major.  “If it were merely a question of that, he’d have cut loose from her as soon as the vessel touched port.  Consideration of self ruled him in that as in all other things.  He knew that the girl’s father fairly idolised her; knew that, in time, his wrath would give way to his love, and, sooner or later, the old man—­who had been mad at the idea of any marriage—­would be moved to settle a large sum upon her so that she might never be in want.  But let me get on with my story.  Having nothing when he returned to England, and being obliged to cover up his identity by assuming another name, Ulchester, after vainly appealing to his father for help on the plea that he was now honourably married and settled down, turned again to the stage, and, repugnant though such a thing was to the delicately-nurtured woman he had married, compelled Zuilika to become his assistant and to go on the boards with him.  That is how the afterwards well-known music-hall ‘team’ of ‘Zyco and the Caliph’s Daughter’ came into existence.

“The novelty of their ‘turn’ caught on like wild fire, and they were a success from the first, not a little of that success being due to the mystery surrounding the identity and appearance of Zuilika; for, true to the traditions of her native land, she never appeared, either in public or in private, without being closely veiled.  Only her ‘lord’ was ever permitted to look upon her uncovered face; all that the world at large might ever hope to behold of it was the low, broad forehead and the two brilliant eyes that appeared above the close-drawn line of her yashmak.  Of course she shrank from the life into which she was forced; but it had its reward, for it kept her in close contact with her husband, whom she almost worshipped.  So, for a time, she was proportionately happy; although, as the years passed by and her father showed no inclination to bestow the coveted ‘rich allowance’ upon his daughter, Ulchester’s ardour began to cool.  He no longer treated her with the same affectionate deference; he neglected her, in fact, and, in the end, even began to ill-use her.

“About two years ago, matters assumed a worse aspect.  He again met Anita Rosario, the Spanish dancer, under whose guidance he had first turned to the halls for a livelihood, and once more took up with her.  He seemed to have lost all thought or care for the feelings of his wife, for, after torturing her with jealousy over his attentions to the dancer, he took a house adjoining my own—­on the borders of the most unfrequented part of the common at Wimbledon—­established himself and Zuilika there, and brought the woman Anita home to live with them.  From that period matters went from bad to worse.  Evidently having tired of the stage, both Ulchester and Anita abandoned it, and turned the house into a sort of club where gambling was carried on to a disgraceful extent.  Broken-hearted over