“You confess it!” I cried.  “Have you, then, no shame left?”

“Why should I not receive letters from this gentleman?”

“Because it is infamous.”

“And why?”

“Because he is a stranger.”

“On the contrary,” said she, “he is my husband!”

CHAPTER IX.

THE DOINGS AT WEST INCH.

I can remember that moment so well.  I have heard from others that a great, sudden blow has dulled their senses.  It was not so with me.  On the contrary, I saw and heard and thought more clearly than I had ever done before.  I can remember that my eyes caught a little knob of marble as broad as my palm, which was imbedded in one of the grey stones of the rockery, and I found time to admire its delicate mottling.  And yet the look upon my face must have been strange, for Cousin Edie screamed, and leaving me she ran off to the house.  I followed her and tapped at the window of her room, for I could see that she was there.

“Go away, Jock, go away!” she cried.  “You are going to scold me!  I won’t be scolded!  I won’t open the window!  Go away!”

But I continued to tap.

“I must have a word with you!”

“What is it, then?” she cried, raising the sash about three inches.  “The moment you begin to scold I shall close it.”

“Are you really married, Edie?”

“Yes, I am married.”

“Who married you?”

“Father Brennan, at the Roman Catholic Chapel at Berwick.”

“And you a Presbyterian?”

“He wished it to be in a Catholic Church.”

“When was it?”

“On Wednesday week.”

I remembered then that on that day she had driven over to Berwick, while de Lapp had been away on a long walk, as he said, among the hills.

“What about Jim?” I asked.

“Oh, Jim will forgive me!”

“You will break his heart and ruin his life.”

“No, no; he will forgive me.”

“He will murder de Lapp!  Oh, Edie, how could you bring such disgrace and misery upon us?”

“Ah, now you are scolding!” she cried, and down came the window.

I waited some little time, and tapped, for I had much still to ask her; but she would return no answer, and I thought that I could hear her sobbing.  At last I gave it up; and I was about to go into the house, for it was nearly dark now, when I heard the click of the garden gate.  It was de Lapp himself.

But as he came up the path he seemed to me to be either mad or drunk.  He danced as he walked, cracked his fingers in the air, and his eyes blazed like two will-o’-the-wisps. “Voltigeurs!” he shouted; “Voltigeurs de la Garde!” just as he had done when he was off his head; and then suddenly, “En avant! en avant!” and up he came, waving his walking-cane over his head.  He stopped short when he saw me looking at him, and I daresay he felt a bit ashamed of himself.