“Yes—­of course!  Do you think I would have taken her against her own wish and will?  She suggested and planned the whole thing—­and I was mad for her at the time—­even now those weeks we passed together seem to me the only real living of my life!  I thought she loved me as I loved her—­and if she had married me, as I begged her to do, I believe I should have done something as a painter,—­ something great, I mean.  But she got tired of my ‘art-jargon,’ as she called it—­and she couldn’t bear the idea of having to rough it a bit before I could hope to make any large amount of money.  Then I was disappointed—­and I told her so—­and she was disappointed, and she told me so—­and we quarrelled—­but when I heard a child was to be born, I urged her again to marry me—­”

“And she refused?” interposed Blythe.

“She refused.  She said she intended to make a rich marriage and live in luxury.  And she declared that if I ever loved her at all, the only way to prove it was to get rid of the child.  I don’t think she would have cared if I had been brute enough to kill it.”

Blythe gave a gesture of horror.

“Don’t say that, man!  Don’t think it!”

Armitage sighed.

“Well, I can’t help it, Blythe!  Some women go callous when they’ve had their fling.  Maude was like that.  She didn’t care for me any more,—­she saw nothing in front of her but embarrassment and trouble if her affair with me was found out—­and as it was all in my hands I did the best I could think of,—­took the child away and placed it with kind country folks—­and removed myself from England and out of Maude’s way altogether.  The year after I came abroad I heard she had married you,—­rather an unkind turn of fate, you being my oldest friend! and this was what made me resolve to ’die’—­that is, to be reported dead, so that she might have no misgivings about me or my turning up unexpectedly to cause you any annoyance.  I determined to lose myself and my name too—­no one knows me here as Pierce Armitage,—­I’m Pietro Corri for all the English amateur art-lovers in Italy!”

He laughed rather bitterly.

“I think I lost a good deal more than myself and my name!” he went on.  “I believe if I had stayed in England I should have won something of a reputation.  But—­you see, I really loved Maude—­in a stupid man’s way of love,—­I didn’t want to worry her or remind her of her phase of youthful madness with me—­or cause scandal to her in any way—­”

“But did you ever think of the child?” interrupted Blythe, suddenly.

Armitage looked up.

“Think of it?  Of course I did!  The place where I left it was called Briar Farm,—­a wonderful old sixteenth-century house—­I made a drawing of it once when the apple-blossom was out—­and the owner of it, known as Farmer Jocelyn, had a wonderful reputation in the neighbourhood for integrity and kindness.  I left the child with him—­one stormy night in autumn—­saying