ngement between you and your cousin,
you cannot wish to seem her enemy. Speak, then; let me at least know the
name of him for whom she thus immolates herself. A hint from you----"

But rising, with a strange look, to her feet, she interrupted me with a
stern remark: "If you do not know, I cannot inform you; do not ask me,
Mr. Raymond." And she glanced at the clock for the second time.

I took another turn.

"Miss Leavenworth, you once asked me if a person who had committed a
wrong ought necessarily to confess it; and I replied no, unless by the
confession reparation could be made. Do you remember?"

Her lips moved, but no words issued from them.

"I begin to think," I solemnly proceeded, following the lead of her
emotion, "that confession is the only way out of this difficulty: that
only by the words you can utter Eleanore can be saved from the doom that
awaits her. Will you not then show yourself a true woman by responding
to my earnest entreaties?"

I seemed to have touched the right chord; for she trembled, and a look
of wistfulness filled her eyes. "Oh, if I could!" she murmured.

"And why can you not? You will never be happy till you do. Eleanore
persists in silence; but that is no reason why you should emulate her
example. You only make her position more doubtful by it."

"I know it; but I cannot help myself. Fate has too strong a hold upon
me; I cannot break away."

"That is not true. Any one can escape from bonds imaginary as yours."

"No, no," she protested; "you do not understand."

"I understand this: that the path of rectitude is a straight one, and
that he who steps into devious byways is going astray."

A nicker of light, pathetic beyond description, flashed for a moment
across her face; her throat rose as with one wild sob; her lips opened;
she seemed yielding, when--A sharp ring at the front door-bell!

"Oh," she cried, sharply turning, "tell him I cannot see him; tell
him----"

"Miss Leavenworth," said I, taking her by both hands, "never mind the
door; never mind anything but this. I have asked you a question which
involves the mystery of this whole affair; answer me, then, for your
soul's sake; tell me, what the unhappy circumstances were which could
induce you--"

But she tore her hands from mine. "The door!" she cried; "it will open,
and--"

Stepping into the hall, I met Thomas coming up the basement stairs. "Go
back," said I; "I will call you when you are wanted."

With a bow he