“Let me go, Rachel” I said.  “It will be better for both of us.  Let me go.”

The hysterical passion swelled in her bosom—­her quickened convulsive breathing almost beat on my face, as she held me back at the door.

“Why did you come here?” she persisted, desperately.  “I ask you again—­why did you come here?  Are you afraid I shall expose you?  Now you are a rich man, now you have got a place in the world, now you may marry the best lady in the land—­are you afraid I shall say the words which I have never said yet to anybody but you?  I can’t say the words!  I can’t expose you!  I am worse, if worse can be, than you are yourself.”  Sobs and tears burst from her.  She struggled with them fiercely; she held me more and more firmly.  “I can’t tear you out of my heart,” she said, “even now!  You may trust in the shameful, shameful weakness which can only struggle against you in this way!” She suddenly let go of me—­she threw up her hands, and wrung them frantically in the air.  “Any other woman living would shrink from the disgrace of touching him!” she exclaimed.  “Oh, God!  I despise myself even more heartily than I despise him!”

The tears were forcing their way into my eyes in spite of me—­the horror of it was to be endured no longer.

“You shall know that you have wronged me, yet,” I said.  “Or you shall never see me again!”

With those words, I left her.  She started up from the chair on which she had dropped the moment before:  she started up—­the noble creature!—­and followed me across the outer room, with a last merciful word at parting.

“Franklin!” she said, “I forgive you!  Oh, Franklin, Franklin! we shall never meet again.  Say you forgive me!”

I turned, so as to let my face show her that I was past speaking—­I turned, and waved my hand, and saw her dimly, as in a vision, through the tears that had conquered me at last.

The next moment, the worst bitterness of it was over.  I was out in the garden again.  I saw her, and heard her, no more.

CHAPTER VIII

Late that evening, I was surprised at my lodgings by a visit from Mr. Bruff.

There was a noticeable change in the lawyer’s manner.  It had lost its usual confidence and spirit.  He shook hands with me, for the first time in his life, in silence.

“Are you going back to Hampstead?” I asked, by way of saying something.

“I have just left Hampstead,” he answered.  “I know, Mr. Franklin, that you have got at the truth at last.  But, I tell you plainly, if I could have foreseen the price that was to be paid for it, I should have preferred leaving you in the dark.”

“You have seen Rachel?”