Rose screamed with terror when she heard it.

Camille rose to his feet, awestruck.  “That was her voice, behind this tree,” he whispered.

“No, no,” cried Rose; “it was me.”

But at that moment a rustle and a rush was heard of some one darting out of the tree.

Camille darted furiously round it in the same direction.  Rose tried to stop him, but was too late.  The next moment Raynal’s wife was in his arms.

CHAPTER X.

Josephine wrestled long and terribly with nature in that old oak-tree.  But who can so struggle forever?  Anguish, remorse, horror, despair, and love wrenched her to and fro; and O mysterious human heart! gleams of a mad fitful joy shot through her, coming quick as lightning, going as quickly, and leaving the despair darker.  And then the fierce struggle of the soul to make itself heard!  More than once she had to close her mouth with her hand:  more than once she seized her throat not to cry out.  But as the struggle endured, she got weaker and weaker, and nature mightier and mightier.  And when the wounded hero fell on his knees so close to her; when he who had resisted death so bravely for her, prepared to give up life calmly for her, her bosom rose beyond all control:  it seemed to fill to choking, then to split wide open and give the struggling soul passage in one gasping sob and heart-stricken cry.  Could she have pent this in she must have died.

It betrayed her.  She felt it had:  so then came the woman’s instinct—­flight:  the coward’s impulse—­flight:  the chaste wife’s inspiration—­flight.  She rushed from her hiding-place and made wildly for the house.

But, unluckily, Camille was at that moment darting round the tree:  she ran right into the danger she meant to flee.  He caught her in his arms.  He held her irresistibly.  “I have got her; I have got her,” he shouted in wild triumph.  “No!  I will not let you go.  None but God shall ever take you from me, and he has spared you to me.  You are not dead:  you have kept faith as I have:  you have lived.  See! look at me.  I am alive, I am well, I am happy.  I told Rose that I suffered.  If I had suffered I should remember it.  It is all gone at sight of you, my love! my love!  Oh, my Josephine! my love!”

His arm was firm round her waist.  His glowing eyes poured love upon her.  She felt his beating heart.

All that passed in her then, what mortal can say?  She seemed two women:  that part of her which could not get away from his strong arm lost all strength to resist, it yielded and thrilled under his embrace, her bosom heaving madly:  all that was free writhed away from him; her face was averted with a glare of terror, and both her hands put up between his eyes and it.

“You turn away your head.  Rose, she turns away.  Speak for me.  Scold her; for I don’t know how to scold her.  No answer from either; oh, what has turned your hearts against me so?”