rms. You would
have done the same. In the morning when the tide permitted, we laughed
over the adventure and returned to Valpre. She went to her governess and
I to the fortress. By then everybody in Valpre knew what had happened.
They had believed that we were drowned, and when we reappeared all were
astonished. Later they began to whisper, and that evening the villain
Rodolphe, being intoxicated, proposed in my presence an infamous toast. I
struck him in the mouth and knocked him down. He challenged me to a duel,
and we fought early in the morning down on the sand. But that day the
gods were not on my side. Christine and Cinders were gone to the sea to
bathe, and, as they returned, they found us fighting. _Le bon_ Cinders,
he precipitate himself between us. _La petite_ rush to stop him--too
late. Rodolphe is startled; he plunge, and my sword pierce his arm.
_C'etait la un moment tres difficile. La petite_ try to explain, to
apologize, and me--I lead her away. _Apres cela_ she go back to England,
and I see her not again. But Rodolphe, he forgive me--never. That,
monsieur--and only that--is the true story of that which happened at
Valpre. The little Christine left--as she arrived--a pure and innocent
child."

He stopped. Mordaunt's eyes were still studying him closely. He met them
with absolute freedom.

"I will finish," he said, "and you shall then judge for yourself. As
you know, I had scarcely attained my ambition when I was ruined. It was
then that you first saw me. You believed me innocent, and later, when
Destiny threw me in your path, you befriended me. I have no need to tell
you what your friendship was to me. No words can express it or my
desolation now that I have lost it. I fear that I was never worthy of
your--so great--confidence." His voice shook a little, and he paused to
steady it. "It was my intention--always--to be worthy. The fault lay in
that I did not realize my weakness. I ought to have left you when I knew
that _la petite_ was become your fiancee."

For the first time Mordaunt broke his silence. "Why not have told me the
truth?"

Bertrand raised his shoulders. "I did not feel myself at liberty to tell
you. Afterwards, I found that her eyes had been opened, and she was
afraid for you to know. It did not seem an affair of great importance,
and I let it pass. We were pals again. She gave me her confidence, and I
would sooner have died," he spoke passionately, "than have betrayed it. I
thought tha