d a soft, timid lustre in her eyes which might have affected any
other man. She rose as Lord Chetwynde entered, and bowed her
beautiful head, while her graceful arms, and small, delicately shaped
hands hung down at her side.

Lord Chetwynde bowed in silence.

"My lord," said Hilda, in a voice which was tremulous from an
uncontrollable emotion, "I wished to see you here. We met here once
before; you said what you wished; I made no reply; I had nothing to
say; I felt your reproaches; they were in some degree just and
well-merited; but I might have said something--only I was timid and
nervous, and you frightened me."

Here Hilda paused, and drew a long breath. Her emotion nearly choked
her, but the sound of her own voice sustained her, and, making an
effort, she went on:

"I have nothing to say in defense of my conduct. It has made you hate
me. Your hate is too evident. My thoughtless spite has turned back
upon myself. I would willingly humiliate myself now if I thought that
it would affect you or conciliate you. I would acknowledge any folly
of mine if I thought that you could be brought to look upon me with
leniency. What I did was the act of a thoughtless girl, angry at
finding herself chained up for life, spiteful she knew not why. I had
only seen you for a moment, and did not know you. I was mad. I was
guilty; but still it is a thing that may be considered as not
altogether unnatural under the circumstances. And, after all, it was
not sincere--it was pique, it was thoughtlessness--it was not that
deep-seated malice which you have laid to my charge. Can you not
think of this? Can you not imagine what may have been the feelings of
a wild, spoiled, untutored girl, one who was little better than a
child, one who found herself shackled she knew not how, and who
chafed at all restraint? Can you not understand, or at least imagine,
such a case as this, and believe that the one who once sinned has now
repented, and asks with tears for your forgiveness?"

Tears? Yes, tears were in the eyes of this singular girl, this girl
whose nature was so made up of strength and weakness. Her eyes were
suffused with tears as she looked at Lord Chetwynde, and finally, as
she ceased, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud.

Now, nothing in nature so moves a man as a woman's tears. If the
woman be beautiful, and if she loves the man to whom she speaks, they
are irresistible. And here the woman was beautiful, and her love for