't have a home without a wife. I knew where my
wife was to be found if ever I had one at all; and she was so sweet and
good, and let me see so frankly that she liked and trusted me, that
I--it was all vanity, Lucia--I never much doubted that in time I should
make her love me."

He stopped. Lucia was looking at him eagerly. Even yet she did not quite
understand. "Go on," she said.

"There was my mistake," he continued. "I might have won her then
perhaps. But there came a visitor to the neighbourhood. He was
handsome--at least women said so--and could make himself agreeable. He
knew all about what people call the world--he had plenty of talk about
all sorts of small topics. He was a very fine gentleman in fact, and you
know what I was. Well, naturally enough, he wanted amusement. He looked
about for it, I suppose, and was attracted by what had attracted
me--no--I do not believe even that, for I loved her goodness, and he
must have been caught by her beauty. At any rate, I had to go away and
leave him near her; and I heard after a while that he was gone. That was
late in autumn. Very early this year, I heard of his marriage; and I
thought she had been unharmed.

"My grandfather died, and I was rich enough to make that home I dreamed
of, fit for its mistress. I went to find her. I found her, as I thought,
lovelier and sweeter than ever. She seemed to feel more than ever that I
was of some use and value to her--she made me believe that, next to her
mother, she loved me best in the world. I delayed asking her to be my
wife, only because our days were so happy, that I feared to disturb
them--but I thought she was certainly mine.

"Then, all at once, this man, this Percy, who had left her in her
trouble--who was married--made his appearance, and I knew that she had
loved him all the while--that she had never cared for me!"

Long ago, Lucia had clasped her hands before her face. She sat trembling
and cowering before this accuser. Involuntarily she said in her heart,
"This is the true love. I have been blind--blind!"--but her words were
frozen up--she bent forward as if under a blow--but made no sound.

Maurice himself remained silent for a few minutes. He had spoken under a
strong impulse of excitement, he hardly knew how. He, too, leaned his
head upon his hand, but from under it he still watched the trembling
girlish figure, which was the dearest thing in the world to him.
Presently he saw a tear steal out from between he