me or go. I have
made my choice. I will not beat out my heart against a stone. I will
_not_ marry you. Go, Arthur, go!"

A great anxiety came into his face.

"Do you fully understand what you are saying, Mildred? Such ties as
exist between us cannot be lightly broken."

"But I will break them, and my own heart with them, before they become
chains so heavy that you cannot bear them. Arthur"--and she came up to
him, and put her hands upon his shoulders, looking, with wild and
sorrowful eyes, straight into his face--"tell me now, dear--do not
palter, or put me off with any courteous falsehood--tell me as truly
as you will speak upon the judgment-day, do you still love Angela
Caresfoot as much as ever?"

"Mildred, you should not ask me such painful questions; it is not
right of you."

"It is right; and you will soon know that it is. Answer me."

"Then, if you must have it, _I do_."

Her face became quite hard. Slowly she took her hands from his
shoulders.

"And you have the effrontery to ask me to marry you with one breath,
and to tell me this with the next. Arthur, you had better go. Do not
consider yourself under any false obligation to me. Go, and go
quickly."

"For God's sake, think what you are doing, Mildred!"

"Oh! I have thought--I have thought too much. There is nothing left
but to say good-bye. Yes, it is a very cruel word. Do you know that
you have passed over my life like a hurricane, and wrenched it up by
the roots?"

"Really, Mildred, you mystify me. I don't understand you. What can be
the meaning of all this?"

She looked at him for a few seconds, and then answered, in a quiet,
matter-of-fact voice.

"I forgot, Arthur; here are your English letters;" and she drew them
from her bosom and gave them to him. "Perhaps they will explain things
a little. Meanwhile, I will tell you something. Angela Caresfoot's
husband is dead; indeed, she was never _really_ married to him." And
then she turned, and slowly walked towards the entrance of the museum.
In the boudoir, however, her strength seemed to fail her, and she sank
on a chair.

Arthur took the letter, written by the woman he loved, and warm from
the breast of the woman he was about to leave, and stood speechless.
His heart stopped for a moment, and then sent the blood bounding
through his veins like a flood of joy. The shock was so great that for
a second or two he staggered, and nearly fell. Presently, however, he
recovered himself, and anoth