‘C’est ridicule. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. ‘But you know everything now,’ protested Hilary, keeping pace as Gerald took the stairs two at a time. She knew the truth of it all right. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. The air was crisp and dry.
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