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.