mit. One little year! You are
young. Supposing he has within him," he laid his hand on his heart,
"that of which his wife does not know, which means that his release is
_sure_. Do you understand? Supposing it must come soon--very soon--her
release--and yours. Perhaps then----" There was a long pause. "Perhaps
then his conscience might suffer him to keep silence."

Michael's hand made a slight movement. The duke took it in his, and held
it firmly.

"Listen," he said at last. "Once when I was young, twenty years ago, I
loved. I too would fain have served a woman, would have put my hands
under her feet. There is always one such a woman in life, but only one.
She was to me the world. But I could only trouble her life. She was
married. She had children. I knew I ought to go. I meant to go. She
prayed me to go. I promised her to go--nevertheless I stayed. And at
last--inasmuch as she loved me very much--I broke up her home, her life,
her honour, she was separated from her children. She lost all, and then
when all was gone she died. The only thing which I could keep from her
was poverty, which would have been nothing to her. She never reproached
me. There is no reproach in love. But--she died in disgrace, and alone.
From the first to the last it was her white hands under my feet. That
was how I served the one woman I have deeply loved, the one creature
who deeply loved me." The duke's voice had become almost inaudible. "You
have done better than I," he said.

Then he kissed Michael on the forehead, and went out.

They never met again.

CHAPTER VI

The year slid like a corpse afloat.--D. G. ROSSETTI.

And how did it fare with Fay during the days that followed Michael's
arrest?

Much sympathy was felt for her. Lord John, wallowing in the delicious
novelty of finding eager listeners, went about extolling her courage and
unselfishness to the skies. Her conduct was considered perfectly natural
and womanly. No man condemned her for trying to shield her cousin from
the consequences of his crime. Women said they would have done the same,
and envied her her romantic situation.

And Fay, shut up in her darkened room in her romantic situation--she who
adored romantic situations--what were Fay's thoughts?

There is a travail of soul which toils with hard crying up the dark
valley of decision, and brings forth in anguish the life entrusted to
it. Perhaps it is the great renunciation. Perhaps it is only the loyal
in