Clara Hopgood

When Frank came downstairs to breakfast the conversation turned upon

his return to Germany. He did not object to going, although it can

hardly be said that he willed to go. He was in that perilous

condition in which the comparison of reasons is impossible, and the

course taken depends upon some chance impulse of the moment, and is a

mere drift. He could not leave, however, in complete ignorance of

Madge, and with no certainty as to her future. He resolved therefore

to make one more effort to discover the house. That was all which he

determined to do. What was to happen when he had found it, he did

not know. He was driven to do something, which could not be of any

importance, save for what must follow, but he was unable to bring

himself even to consider what was to follow. He knew that at

Fenmarket one or other of the sisters went out soon after breakfast

to make provision for the day, and perhaps, if they kept up this

custom, he might be successful in his search. He accordingly

stationed himself in Great Ormond Street at about half-past nine, and

kept watch from the Lamb's Conduit Street end, shifting his position

as well as he could, in order to escape notice. He had not been

there half an hour when he saw a door open, and Madge came out and

went westwards. She turned down Devonshire Street as if on her way

to Holborn. He instantly ran back to Theobalds Road, and when he

came to the corner of Devonshire Street she was about ten yards from

him, and he faced her. She stopped irresolutely, as if she had a

mind to return, but as he approached her, and she found she was

recognised, she came towards him.

'Madge, Madge,' he cried, 'I want to speak to you. I must speak with

you.'

'Better not; let me go.'

'I say I MUST speak to you.'

'We cannot talk here; let me go.'

'I must! I must! come with me.'

She pitied him, and although she did not consent she did not refuse.

He called a cab, and in ten minutes, not a word having been spoken

during those ten minutes, they were at St Paul's. The morning

service had just begun, and they sat down in a corner far away from

the worshippers.

'Oh, Madge,' he began, 'I implore you to take me back. I love you.

I do love you, and--and--I cannot leave you.'

She was side by side with the father of her child about to be born.

He was not and could not be as another man to her, and for the moment

there was the danger lest she should mistake this secret bond for

love. The thought of what had passed between them, and of the child,

his and hers, almost overpowered her.