Feeling crushed and ashamed, and oh, so little and weak, I groped my way back to the boudoir and closed the door.

Then a strange thing happened—­one of those little accidents of life which seem to be thrown off by the mighty hand of Fate.  A shaft of light from my bedroom, crossing the end of my writing-desk, showed me a copy of a little insular newspaper.

The paper, which must have come by the evening post, had probably been opened by Martin, and for that reason only I took it up and glanced at it.

The first thing that caught my eye was a short report headed “Charity Performance.”

It ran: 

"The English ladies and gentlemen from Castle Raa who are cruising round the island in the handsome steam yacht, the Cleopatra, gave a variety entertainment last night in aid of the Catholic Mission at the Palace, Ravenstown.

“At the end of the performance the Lord Bishop, who was present in person and watched every item of the programme with obvious enjoyment, proposed a vote of thanks in his usual felicitous terms, thanking Lord Raa for this further proof of his great liberality of mind in helping a Catholic charity, and particularly mentioning the beautiful and accomplished Madame Lier, who had charmed all eyes and won all hearts by her serpentine dances, and to whom the Church in Ellan would always be indebted for the handsome sum which had been the result of her disinterested efforts in promoting the entertainment.

“It is understood that the_ Cleopatra will leave Ravenstown Harbour to-morrow morning on her way back to Port Raa."

That was the end of everything.  It came upon me like a torrent and swept all my scruples away.

Such was the purity of the Church—­threatening me with its censures for wishing to follow the purest dictates of my heart, yet taking money from a woman like Alma, who was bribing it to be blind to her misconduct and to cover her with its good-will!

My husband too—­his infidelities were flagrant and notorious, yet the Church, through its minister, was flattering his vanity and condoning his offences!

He was coming back to me, too—­this adulterous husband, and when he came the Church would require that I should keep “true faith” with him, whatever his conduct, and deny myself the pure love that was now awake within me.

But no, no, no!  Never again!  It would be a living death.  Accursed be the power that could doom a woman to a living death!

Perhaps I was no longer sane—­morally sane—­and if so God and the Church will forgive me.  But seeing that neither the Church nor the Law could liberate me from this bond which I did not make, that both were shielding the evil man and tolerating the bad woman, my whole soul rose in revolt.

I told myself now that to leave my husband and go to Martin would be to escape from shame to honour.

I saw Martin’s despairing face again as I had seen it at the moment of our parting, and my brain rang with his passionate words.  “You are my wife.  I am your real husband.  We love each other.  We shall continue to love each other.  No matter where you are, or what they do with you, you are mine and always will be.”