not true? Oh, I knew it--I knew it! She _was_ lying to me.
She _was_ lying to me as she has always lied to me. Oh, thank God,
thank God!" She dropped back into the chair that had been placed for
her, but which up to that moment she had ignored.

The two men waited for her emotion to pass. Buck as yet had nothing to
say. And the Padre knew that until she was mistress of herself words
would only be wasted.

Presently she looked up. Her eyes were dry, and the agony that had
sent her upon her headlong mission was passing. The Padre's relief
showed in the smile with which he met her glance. Buck stood steadily
regarding her, longing to help her, but knowing that his time had not
come yet.

"Tell me," she said, struggling hard for steadiness. "Tell me all--for
I--I cannot seem to understand anything."

The Padre bowed his head.

"You know your own story. It is all substantially true that Mercy
Lascelles has told you. All, that is, except that she claims I killed
your father. She did not see your father die. I did. I was the only
one who saw him die--by his own hand, a desperate and ruined man.
Listen, and I will tell you the whole story without concealing one
tittle of my own doings and motives."

Half an hour passed while the man's even voice recited without emotion
all the details leading up to Charles Stanmore's death. He kept
nothing back--his own love for the then handsome Mercy, and the
passionate insult he had offered her, when, in her love for the dead
man, she became his housekeeper. He intended that, for Buck's sake,
this girl should know everything, nor had he the least desire for any
concealment on personal account. He did not spare his own folly and
the cowardice of his flight. He felt that concealment of any sort
could only injure Buck, whom at all costs he must not hurt. He even
analyzed, with all the logic at his command, Mercy Lascelles' motives
in accusing him. He declared his belief in her desire to marry the
widowed man and her own consequent hatred of himself, whose presence
was a constant thwart to her plans.

And when he had finished something of the trouble had passed out of
the girl's eyes. The color had returned to her cheeks, and he knew
that he had achieved his purpose.

"I suppose it is terrible to you, child, to hear me speak of your
aunt, one of your own sex, a blood relative, in this way," he said in
conclusion. "But I believe that she is absolutely mad in her hatred of
me. And now t