"And I will, too!" he said in his mind. "She shall suffer for it!"
He turned away and walked for some twenty yards. Then once more the
doubt occurred to him. He had better go to the bookseller's and make
sure of Mrs. Quarrier's identity. Turning to take the opposite
direction, he saw some one coming forth from the gates by which he
had just stood--a lady--and it might be----?
Agitation shook him from head to foot. Was not that Lilian's figure,
her walk? She was moving away from him; he must have a glimpse of
her face. Drawing carefully nearer, on the side opposite to hers--
carefully--fearfully--he at length saw her features, then fell
back. Yes, it was Lilian. Much disguised in that handsome
walking-costume, but beyond doubt Lilian. Still, as of old, she
walked with bowed head, modestly. Who could imagine what she
concealed?
His face was moist with perspiration. Following, he could not take
his eyes off her. That lady was his wife. He had but to claim her,
and all her sham dignity fell to nothing. But he could not command
her obedience. He had no more power over her will than any stranger.
She might bid him do his worst--and so vanish with her chosen
companion utterly beyond his reach.
Again he thought of the Court-house. For it was too certain that the
sight of him would inspire her only with horror. Should he not hold
her up to infamy? If _he_ did not, another would; Marks was plainly
to be trusted; this day was the last of Mrs.
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