an if you were to go, leaving one of your empty dresses?"

She had not for an instant taken her gaze from me; and so strange were her
eyes, so compelling, that I seemed unable to move or speak.

But now she released me to blaze upon him--and never shall I forget any
detail of her face or voice as she said to him: "That is false, Mowbray
Langdon. I told you the truth when I told you I loved him!"

So violent was her emotion that she had to pause for self-control. And I?
I was overwhelmed, dazed, stunned. When she went on, she was looking at
neither of us. "Yes, I loved him, almost from the first--from the day he
came to the box at the races. I was ashamed, poor creature that my parents
had made me! I was ashamed of it. And I tried to hate him, and thought I
did. And when he showed me that he no longer cared, my pride goaded me into
the folly of trying to listen to you. But I loved him more than ever. And
as you and he stand here, I am ashamed again--ashamed that I was ever so
blind and ignorant and prejudiced as to compare him with"--she looked at
Langdon--"with you. Do you believe me now--now that I humble myself before
him here in your presence?"

I should have had no heart at all if I had not felt pity for him. His face
was gray, and on it were those signs of age that strong emotion brings to
the surface after forty. "You could have convinced me in no other way," he
replied, after a silence, and in a voice I should not have recognized.

Silence again. Presently he raised his head, and with something of his old
cynicism bowed to her.

"You have avenged much and many," said he. "I have often had a presentiment
that my day of wrath would come."

He lifted his hat, bowed to me without looking at me, and, drawing the
tatters of his pose still further over his wounds, moved away toward the
landing.

I, still in a stupor, watched him until he had disappeared. When I turned
to her, she dropped her eyes. "Uncle Howard will be back this afternoon,"
said she. "If I may, I'll stay at the house until he comes to take me."

A weary, half-suppressed sigh escaped from her. I knew how she must be
reading my silence, but I was still unable to speak. She went to the horse,
browsing near by; she stroked his muzzle. Lingeringly she twined her
fingers in his mane, as if about to spring to his back! That reminded me of
a thousand and one changes in her--little changes, each a trifle in itself,
yet, taken all together, making a compl