“Read it through,” persisted the woman.  “See whether I am telling the truth or lies.”

Penny’s knees were shaking under her.  She sank into a chair, and clasping her baby more closely to her breast she read the letter.  It was dated a few days before she and Arthur were married.

“Dear Clara,” it ran.  “This is the last time I shall write to you.  Unless you stick to the agreement we made, I shall stop sending you money.  Do not try to meet me, and do not mention again our unhappy marriage—­even to me—­or I shall shake you off entirely.  So use your common-sense, and keep quiet.  You will find that I shall do something desperate if you keep on annoying me as you have done lately.  I tell you plainly:  I will never see you again.”

What a moment of agony for the poor stricken wife!  There could no longer he room for doubt.  She had indeed been fooled and deceived!  Her innate courage rose and sustained her under the weight of the trial.  She would leave that house—­now, once and for all—­before her betrayer could return!  Never, never would she look upon his smiling, treacherous face again!

Animated with fresh strength, she rose and hastily began her preparations.  She fetched the baby’s warm wraps from the inner room and began to dress the child.  The other woman looked on in silence—­dazed for the moment by Penny’s brisk movements.  At last she found a voice.

“What are you doing?” she cried.  “Surely you will not take the child out to-night!”

Penny made no answer, but fetched her own outdoor clothes and dressed hastily.

“Where are you going, on such a night?” cried the other excitedly.

“Anywhere,” answered Penny, her lips white and her eyes flashing.  “Anywhere out of reach of that man.”

“No, no!” the woman expostulated.  “Wait till morning!  I’ll see him then and settle everything.”

“What can you settle that can make me stay?” asked Penny, in bitter wrath.  “Do you think that I would spend another night under this roof?  Wait here and see him, if you wish—­you have the right to be here, not I!  He will never see me again.”

She ran back into her bedroom for the little purse.  In it were a few pounds she had saved up to buy the man an easy chair for his coming birthday.  How often she had pictured his pleasure when he would be able to lean back comfortably in it on the opposite side of the fireplace and smoke his evening pipe, his handsome face beaming love and admiration.  The vision filled her with fresh loathing.  She scarcely bade the other woman good-night, but clasping her babe hurried from the room.  Swiftly down the stairs she ran, heedless of the cries of the woman she had left behind, and out into the wind and rain of the dreary street—­fit emblem, in its forlorn wretchedness, of the future which loomed hopeless before her.

* * * * * *

Two things added to the poignancy of Penny’s unavailing grief in after years:  the innocence of Arthur Spence of any deception (except silence regarding his past), and the fact that she never knew this until he had given his life in his country’s service.  It was then too late to reap comfort in her supreme sorrow from the knowledge of his uprightness both to herself and to the wretched woman who had caused her unreflecting flight on that fatal night.