e was standing. Even at that moment she was struck
by the absence of his old airs of superiority; his blindness seemed to
have given him back the dependence and simplicity of much earlier days.

"I suppose you mean that you are not free," he said. "And even if you
had been free, my dear, it is not at all likely that I should have had a
chance. There are certain to be many wooers of a girl possessed of your
fresh sweetness and innocent gaiety. I wished only to say to you that I
have been punished for any harsh words of mine, by finding out that I
could not forget your face for a day, for an hour. I will not say that I
cannot live without you; but I will say that life would have the charm
that it had in the days of my youth, if I could have hoped that you,
Kitty, would have been my wife."

There was a faint melancholy in the last few words that went to Kitty's
heart. Rupert heard her sob, and immediately put out his hand with the
uncertain action of a man who cannot see.

"Kitty!" he said, ruefully, "I did not mean to make you cry, dear. Don't
grieve. There are obstacles on both sides now. I am a blind, helpless
old fellow; and you are going to be married. Child, what does this
mean?"

Unable to speak, she had seized his hand and guided it to the finger on
which she wore a plain gold ring. He felt it: he felt her hand, and then
he asked a question.

"Are you married already, Kitty?"

"Yes."

"To whom?"

"To Hugo Luttrell." And then she sank down almost at his feet, sobbing,
and her hot tears fell upon the hand which she pressed impulsively to
her lips. "Oh, forgive me! forgive me!" she cried. "Indeed, I did not
know what to do. I was very wicked and foolish. And now I am miserable.
I shall be miserable all my life."

These vague self-accusations conveyed no very clear idea to Vivian's
mind; but he was conscious of a sharp sting of pain at the thought that
she was not happy in her marriage.

"I did not know. I would not have spoken as I did if I had known," he
said.

"No, I know you would not; and yet I could not tell you. You will hear
all about it from the others. I cannot bear to tell you. And
yet--yet--don't think me quite so foolish, quite so wrong as they will
say that I have been. They do not know all. I cannot tell them all. I
was driven into it--and now I have to bear the punishment. My whole life
is a punishment. I am miserable."

"Life can never be a mere punishment, if it is rightly led," said