t go on quietly; and then again I thought that it would be
unfair to you not to tell you the whole truth. I leave it to you to say
what we should do. I have no love to give you--but you knew that from
the first. The difference now is that I--I love another."

Her voice sank almost to a whisper as she uttered the last few words,
and she covered her face with her hands. Percival's brow cleared a
little; the irony disappeared from his lips, the flash of scorn from his
eye. He advanced to her side, and stood looking down at her for several
minutes before he attempted any answer to her speech.

"You mean to say," he began, in a softer tone, "that you rejected this
man because you had given your promise to me?"

"Yes."

"You sent him away?"

"Yes."

"And he knew the reason? Did he know that you loved him, Elizabeth?"

The answer was given reluctantly, after a long pause. "I do not know. I
am afraid--he did."

Percival drew a short, impatient breath. "You must forgive me if I was
violent just now, Elizabeth. This is very hard to bear."

"I dare not ask your pardon," she murmured, with her face still between
her hands.

"Oh, my pardon? That will do you little good," he said, contemptuously.
"The question is--what is to be done? I suppose this man--this lover of
yours--is within call, as it were, Elizabeth? You could summon him with
your little finger? If I released you from this engagement to me, you
could whistle him back to you next day?"

"Oh, no," she said, looking up at him wonderingly. "He is gone away from
England. I do not know where he is."

"It is this man Stretton, then?" said Percival, quietly.

A sudden rush of colour to her face assured him that he had guessed the
truth. "I always suspected him," he muttered.

"You had no need. He behaved as honourably as possibly. He did not know
of my engagement to you."

"Honourably? A penniless adventurer making love to one of the richest
women in Scotland!"

"You mistake, Percival. He did not know that I was rich."

"A likely story!"

"You insult him--and me," said Elizabeth, in a very low tone. "If you
have no pity, have some respect--for him--if you have none for me." And
then she burst into an agony of tears, such as he had never seen her
shed before. But he was pitiless still. The wound was very deep: his
pain very sharp and keen.

"Have you had any pity for me?" he said. "Why should I pity him? To my
mind, he is the most enviable man on earth, be