g voice speaks.

"Thank you," she says. "You are always kind, Mr. Darcy, but I cannot
go."

"Jennie! Cannot go?"

"I cannot go Mr. Darcy. I am sorry to leave you, more sorry than I can
say, but you must get another attendant and companion. I am going away."

"Mrs. Liston?"

"I am not Mrs. Liston--my name is not Jennie--I am not Mr. Liston's
niece. From first to last I have deceived you. I have come to tell you
the truth to-night, although it breaks my heart to see you angry. I will
tell you the truth, and then you will see that I must go. My name is not
Jane Liston. It is Norine Bourdon."

There is a pause. He sits looking at her, astonishment, anger,
perplexity, doubt all in his face, and yet he sees that she is telling
the truth. And Norine Bourdon--where has he heard that name before?
Norine Bourdon! A foreign-sounding and uncommon name, too. Where has he
heard it?

"I do not wish you to blame Mr. Liston too much," the quiet voice goes
on. "He is to blame, for he suggested the fraud, but I was ready enough
to close with it. I had not a friend nor a home in the world that I
dared turn to, and I could not face life alone. So I came here under a
false name, false in everything, and broke your bread, and took your
money, and deceived you. I am not what you think me; I am a girl who
has been lured from her home, deceived and cast off. A wicked wretch who
fled from her friends, who betrayed a good man's trust, who promised to
marry him, and who ran away from him with one who betrayed her in turn.
You have heard of me before--heard from Richard Gilbert of Norine
Bourdon."

A faint exclamation comes from his lips.

Yes, yes, yes, he sees it all. This is _that_ girl--"Norine Bourdon!" He
remembers the odd French name well now.

"I will tell you my story, Mr. Darcy--my wicked and shameful story, and
you shall turn me out this very night if you choose. I am the girl your
friend, Richard Gilbert, honored with his respect and love; whom he
asked in marriage. I loved another man, a younger, handsomer man, but he
had left me, forever, I thought, and wearied of my dull country life,
sad and disappointed, I accepted him. The man I loved hated Mr. Gilbert.
Liston will tell you why, if you ask him. In that hatred he laid a plan
of revenge. He cared nothing for me; he was betrothed to a beautiful and
wealthy lady; I was but the poor little fool to whom a wise man had
given his heart--what became of me did not matter. Three