g!" said Stanford, gravely.

"Wondering?"

"Yes; if the old adage about seeing being believing is true."

"I don't understand," said Kate, a little haughtily.

Stanford laid down his paper, came over to where she sat, and took a
chair near her.

"Something extraordinary has occurred, Kate, which I cannot comprehend.
Shall I tell you what it is?"

"If you please."

"It was last night, then. You know I spent the day and evening with the
Howards? It was late--past twelve, when I escorted Rose home; but the
night was fine, and tempted me to linger still longer. I turned down the
tamarack walk--"

He paused.

Kate's work had dropped in her lap, with a faint cry of dismay.

"I had reached the lower end of the avenue," continued Reginald
Stanford, "and was turning, when I saw two persons--a man and a
woman--enter. 'Who can they be, and what can they be about here at this
hour?' I thought, and I stood still to watch. They came nearer. I saw in
the starlight her woman's face. I heard in the stillness her words. She
was telling the man how much she loved him, how much she should always
love him, and then they were out of sight and hearing. Kate, was that
woman you?"

She sat looking at him, her blue eyes dilated, her lips apart, her hands
clasped, in a sort of trance of terror.

"Was it you, Kate?" repeated her lover. "Am I to believe my eyes?"

She roused herself to speak by an effort.

"Oh, Reginald!" she cried, "what have you done! Why, why did you go
there?"

There was dismay in her tone, consternation in her face, but nothing
else. No shame, no guilt, no confusion--nothing but that look of grief
and regret.

A conviction that had possessed him all along that it was all right,
somehow or other, became stronger than ever now; but his face did not
show it--perhaps, unconsciously, in his secret heart he was hoping it
would not be all right.

"Perhaps I was unfortunate in going there," he said, coldly; "but I
assure you I had very little idea of what I was to see and hear. Having
heard, and having seen, I am afraid I must insist on an explanation."

"Which I cannot give you," said Kate, her colour rising, and looking
steadfastly in his dark eyes.

"You cannot give me!" said Reginald, haughtily. "Do I understand you
rightly, Kate?"

She laid her hand on his, with a gentle, caressing touch, and bent
forward. She loved him too deeply and tenderly to bear that cold, proud
tone.

"We have never quarrelled