neven tones. He went on slowly.

"She left me at last. We agreed to separate. I saw her from time to
time, and made her an allowance. She lived in one place: I in another.
She died last year."

"Last year?"

"Yes, in the autumn. You heard that I had gone into Wales to see a
relation who was dying: that was my wife."

"Did Percival know?" asked Kitty, in a low voice.

"No. I think very few persons knew. I wonder whether I ought to have
told the world in general! I did not want to blazon forth my shame."

For a little time they both were silent. Then Rupert said, softly:--

"When she was dead, I remembered the little girl whom I used to know in
Gower-street; and I said to myself that I would find her out."

"You found her changed," said Kitty, with a sob.

"Very much changed outwardly; but with the same loving heart at the
core. Kitty, I was unjust to you: I have come back to offer reparation."

"For what?"

"For that injustice, dear. When I went away from Strathleckie in
January, I was angry and vexed with you. I thought that you were
throwing yourself away in promising to marry Hugo Luttrell--" then, as
Kitty made a sudden gesture--"oh, I know I had no right to interfere. I
was wrong, quite wrong. I must confess to you now, Kitty, that I thought
you a vain, frivolous, little creature; and it was not until I began to
think over what I had said to you and what you had said to me, that I
saw clearly, as I lay in my darkened room, how unjust I had been to
you."

"You were not unjust," said Kitty, hurriedly; "and I was wrong. I did
not tell you the truth; I let you suppose that I was engaged to Hugo
when I was not. But----"

"You were not engaged to him?"

"No."

"Then I may say what I should have said weeks ago if I had not thought
that you had promised to marry him?"

"It cannot make much difference what you say now," said Kitty, heavily.
"It is too late."

"I suppose it is. I cannot ask any woman--especially any girl of your
age--to share the burden of my infirmity."

"It is not that. Anyone would be proud to share such a burden--to be of
the least help to you--but I mean--you have not heard----"

She could not go on. If he had seen her face, he might have guessed more
quickly what she meant. But he could not see; and her voice, broken as
it was, told him only that she was agitated by some strong emotion--he
knew not of what kind. He rose and stood beside her, as if he did not
like to sit while sh