have loved
me for myself alone, that you were not going to marry me for my rank and
position, as many another girl would have done, that I was tempted to
play the farce to the end. It was folly, but the gods punish folly more
surely and quickly than they punish crime. The night that you
discovered I had deceived you, I had resolved to tell you the truth and
beg your forgiveness. But it was too late. Most of our good resolutions
come too late, Nell. You had learned that I had deceived you; you had
learned that I was not worthy to win and hold the love of a pure and
innocent girl, and you sent me away."

She raised her eyes and glanced at him, half bewildered. Was it possible
that he thought that was her only reason for breaking the engagement?

"You were right, Nell. I think you would be right if you sent me away
now; but I am daring to hope that you won't do so. It is but the
shadow--the glimmer of a hope, and yet I cling to it, for it means so
much to me--so much!"

There was silence for a moment, then he went on:

"I left Shorne Mills that day, and I sailed in the _Seagull_, determined
that I would accept your sentence, that I would never harass or worry
you, that, if it were possible, you should never be troubled by the
sight of me. But, Nell, though I left you, I carried your image with me
in my heart. I tried to forget you, but I could not. I have never ceased
to love you; not for a single day have you been absent from my mind, not
for a single day have I ceased to long for you!"

She looked at him again, wonder and indignation dividing her emotion.
There was truth in his accents, in his eyes. Had he forgotten Lady
Lucille?

"There was no more wretched and unhappy man on God's earth than I was at
that time," he went on. "Nell, if you had been called upon to find a
punishment heavy enough for the deceit which I practiced, I do not think
you could have hit upon a heavier one. For I could not be rid of my love
for you. I could not forget your sweet face; your dear voice haunted me
wherever I went, and I moved like a man under a curse, the curse of
weariness and despair."

His voice almost broke, and he put his hand to his forehead as if he
still felt the weight of the weary months.

"Then came the news of my uncle's sudden death; but when I had got over
my grief for him--he had been good to me, and I was fond of him!--even
then I could find no pleasure in the inheritance which had fallen to me.
Of what use w