my love, why did you forsake me so cruelly? What had I done to
merit your desertion of me?"

"What had you done! You had only been too good to me. I know that there
is no excuse for my sin. I have prayed that you and I might never meet
again. What can I say? From first to last I have been wrong. From first
to last I have acted weakly and wickedly. I was flattered and gratified
by your affection for me; and when I found that my dear uncle had set his
heart upon our marriage, I yielded against my own better reason, which
warned me that I did not love you as you deserved to be loved. Then for a
long time I was blind to the truth. I did not examine my own heart. I was
quite able to estimate all your noble qualities, and I fancied that I
should be very happy as your wife. But you must remember that at the
last, when you were leaving England, I asked you to release me, and told
you that it would be happier for both of us to be free."

"Why was that, Marian?"

"Because at that last moment I began to doubt my own heart."

"Had there been any other influence at work, Marian? Had you seen your
husband, Mr. Holbrook, at that time?" She blushed crimson, and the
slender hands nervously clasped and unclasped themselves before she
spoke.

"I cannot answer that question," she said at last.

"That is quite as good as saying 'yes.' You had seen this man; he had
come between us already. O, Marian, Marian, why were you not more
candid?"

"Because I was weak and foolish. I could not bear to make you unhappy. O,
believe me, Gilbert, I had no thought of falsehood at that time. I fully
meant to be true to my promise, come what might."

"I am quite willing to believe that," he answered gently. "I believe that
you acted from first to last under the influence of a stronger will than
your own. You can see that I feel no resentment against you. I come to
you in sorrow, not in anger. But I want to understand how this thing came
to pass. Why was it that you never wrote to me to tell me the complete
change in your feelings?"

"It was thought better not," Marian faltered, after a pause.

"By you?"

"No; by my husband."

"And you suffered him to dictate to you in that matter. Against your own
sense of right?"

"I loved him," she answered simply. "I have never refused to obey him in
anything. I will own that I thought it would be better to write and tell
you the truth; but my husband thought otherwise. He wished our marriage
to remain a