r face tremblingly in her hands, for all at
once she realized what it was, what it had been, unconsciously perhaps,
but for a long time really, to her.

She made no attempt at self-deception. Her strongest trait from
childhood had been her sincerity, and now it would not let her go. She
had begun to love Ward Heathcote unconsciously, but now she loved him
consciously. That was the bare fact. It confronted her, it loomed above
her, a dark menacing shape, from whose presence she could not flee. She
shivered, and her breath seemed to stop during the slow moment while the
truth made itself known to her. "O God!" she murmured, bursting into
tears; and there was no irreverence in the cry. She recognized the
faithlessness which had taken possession of her--unawares, it is true,
yet loyal hearts are not conquered so. She had been living in a dream,
and had suddenly found the dream reality, and the actors flesh and
blood--one of them at least, a poor wildly loving girl, with the mark of
Judas upon her brow. She tried to pray, but could think of no words. For
she was false to Rast, she loved Heathcote, and hated Helen, yet could
not bring herself to ask that any of these feelings should be otherwise.
This was so new to her that she sank down upon the floor in utter
despair and self-abasement. She was bound to Rast; she was bound to
Helen. Yet she had, in her heart at least, betrayed them both.

Still, so complex is human nature that even here in the midst of her
abasement the question stole in, whispering its way along as it came,
"_Does_ he care for me?" And "he" was not Rast. She forgot all else to
weigh every word and look of the weeks and days that had passed. Slowly
she lived over in memory all their conversations, not forgetting the
most trivial, and even raised her arm to get a pillow in order that she
might lie more easily; but the little action brought reality again, and
her arm fell, while part of her consciousness drew off, and sat in
judgment upon the other part. The sentence was scathing.

[Illustration: "SHE BURIED HER FACE TREMBLINGLY IN HER HANDS."]

Then jealousy seized her again. She had admired Helen so warmly as a
woman, that even now she could not escape the feeling. She went over in
quick, hot review all that the sweet voice and delicate lips had ever
said concerning the person veiled under the name of Knight-errant, and
the result was a miserable conviction that she had been mistaken; that
there was a ti