sudden
radiance of remembrance--"and he and I became secretly engaged, in spite
of the fact that I had already promised to marry Maurice. I expect you
think that was unforgivable of me," she seemed to search the intent
faces of her little audience as though challenging the verdict she might
read therein; "but there was some excuse. I was very young, and at the
time I promised myself to Maurice I did not know that Geoffrey cared for
me. And then--when I knew--I hadn't the courage to break with Maurice.
He and Geoffrey were both going out to India--they were in the same
regiment--and I kept hoping that something might happen which would
make it easier for me. Maurice might meet and be attracted by some other
woman. . . . I hoped he would."

She fell silent for a moment, then, gathering her remaining strength
together, as it seemed, she went on relentlessly--

"Something did happen. Maurice was cashiered from the Army, and I had a
legitimate reason for terminating the engagement between us. . . .
Then, just as I thought I was free, he came to tell me his case would
be reopened; there was an eye-witness who could prove his innocence, a
private in his own regiment. I never knew who the man was"--she turned
slightly at the sound of a sudden brusque movement from Miles Herrick,
then, as he volunteered no remark, continued--"but it appeared he had
been badly wounded and had only learned the verdict of the court-martial
after his recovery. He had then written to Maurice, telling him that he
was in a position to prove that it was not he, but Geoffrey Lovell who
had been guilty of cowardice. When I understood this, and realized what
it must mean, I confessed to Maurice that Geoffrey was the man I loved,
and I begged and implored him to take the blame--to let the verdict of
the court-marital stand. It was a horrible thing to do--I know that . . .
but think what it meant to me! It meant the honour and welfare of the
man I loved, as opposed to the honour and welfare of a man for whom I
cared comparatively little. Maurice was not easy to move, but I made him
understand that, whatever happened now, I should never marry him--that
I should sink or swim with Geoffrey, and at last he consented to do the
thing I asked. He accepted the blame and went away--to the Colonies, I
believe. Afterwards, as you all know, he returned to England and lived
at Far End under the name of Garth Trent."

Such was the tale Elisabeth unfolded, and the hushed