old, and have had
my own way too long. Do not let that thought trouble you. In this
matter I shall judge for myself. I have judged for myself already."

"And your father?"

"Papa knows nothing of it."

"But you will tell him?"

"I do not know. Poor papa is very ill. If he were well I would tell
him, and he would think as I do."

"And your cousin?"

"You say that he has heard it all."

"I think so. Do you know that I remembered him the first moment that
I saw him. But what could I do? When you mentioned to me my old name,
my real name, how could I be honest? I have been driven to do that
which has made honesty to me impossible. My life has been a lie; and
yet how could I help it? I must live somewhere,--and how could I live
anywhere without deceit?"

"And yet that is so sad."

"Sad indeed! But what could I do? Of course I was wrong in the
beginning. Though how am I to regret it, when it has given me such a
husband as I have? Ah!--if you could know it all, I think,--I think
you would forgive me."

Then by degrees she told it all, and Clara was there for hours
listening to her story. The reader will not care to hear more of
it than he has heard. Nor would Clara have desired any closer
revelation; but as it is often difficult to obtain a confidence,
so is it impossible to stop it in the midst of its effusion. Mrs.
Askerton told the history of her life,--of her first foolish
engagement, her belief, her half-belief, in the man's reformation, of
the miseries which resulted from his vices, of her escape and shame,
of her welcome widowhood, and of her second marriage. And as she told
it, she paused at every point to insist on the goodness of him who
was now her husband. "I shall tell him this," she said at last, "as
I do everything; and then he will know that I have in truth got a
friend."

She asked again and again about Mr. Belton, but Clara could only tell
her that she knew nothing of her cousin's knowledge. Will might have
heard it all, but if so he had kept his information to himself.

"And now what shall you do?" Mrs. Askerton asked of Clara, at length
prepared to go.

"Do? in what way? I shall do nothing."

"But you will write to Captain Aylmer?"

"Yes;--I shall write to him."

"And about this?"

"Yes;--I suppose I must write to him."

"And what will you say?"

"That I cannot tell. I wish I knew what to say. If it were to his
mother I could write my letter easily enough."

"And what would you