at.

"You know my story," she murmured. "I commence at the time when I left
your father in Paris. I had thought myself hardened in my sin; I was
mistaken. Repentance crept slowly but surely in upon me immediately
after my father's visit to us. His words haunted me. I began to steal
away in the evening to vespers at the Church of St. Cecilia. One night
a grave, sweet-faced priest stood up in the pulpit; and as his words
sank into my heart my sin rose up before me black and grim, and the
burden of it grew intolerable. After the service I sought him, and
I confessed. On the morrow I left Martin secretly and without adieu.
Count Hirsfeld aided my escape. I came here!

"I came, hoping for forgiveness; but he, my father, could not forget
the past. I found him living in grim and fierce solitude, shunned and
dreaded by every one, ever brooding over my sin and his dishonour. He
made me stay, yet he cursed me.

"Six months after my arrival Adrian was born. It was while I lay
between life and death that I wrote that letter to your father.
Afterwards I told my father what I had done. The letter lay there;
I dared not send it without my father's sanction. I sent for him and
told him all. To my surprise, he consented. He did more than that; he
spoke of it to Count Hirsfeld, and the Count volunteered to take the
letter to England. Their readiness made me worried and anxious. I
knew how they hated Martin de Vaux, and I was suspicious. I called the
doctor to my side, and questioned him closely. He declared solemnly
that I could not live a fortnight; it was impossible. I put my
suspicions away. It was for the honour of his name that my father had
consented to receive Martin beneath his roof; there could be no other
reason. And I myself felt that the end was near. My body was cold, and
there was a deadly faintness, against which I was always struggling. I
dreaded only lest he should come too late!

"It was only the night before his arrival that I learnt the truth. I
was lying with my eyes closed, and they thought that I was asleep. The
doctor and my father were talking together in whispers. The crisis
was over, I heard them say. In a few days Adrian would be born, and I
should speedily recover, if all went well. I nerved myself, and called
my father to me. I had overheard, I said; if Martin came, I would
not marry him. His anger was terrible. Both Count Hirsfeld and he had
known from the commencement that I was likely to recover, but