ink of me?"

"I do not know, Mr. Huntter, except that we all care for the good opinion
of those who wish us well."

"You wish me well?"

"With all my heart."

"I'd like"--Huntter turned his face toward the window and the glorious
winter day--"I'd like to be worthy of every well-wisher. I feel quite the
good boy this morning. I've been--well, I've been rather up against it, I
fear, and a trial to you, for all that you say to the contrary; but I am
going to make amends to you--and the world! Now, when my friend comes,
you won't mind if I ask you to leave us alone for a few moments? I can
call you when I need you."

"Yes, Mr. Huntter."

"The lady is--you may have guessed--my fiancee. I have important things
to say to her, and----"

Priscilla's heart beat madly. She felt she was near a deeper tragedy than
any that had ever entered her life. And just then, as the clock struck
the half hour, came a tap on the door:

"Come!" cried Huntter, in a tone of joy; "Come!" And in burst Margaret
Moffatt!

She did not notice the rigid figure by the bowl of flowers; her radiant
face was fixed upon Huntter, and she ran toward him with outstretched
arms.

"My beloved!" she whispered. "Oh! my dear, my dear! How ill you have
been! They did not tell me. I shall never forgive them. When did you
get back from Bermuda?"

Priscilla slipped from the room and closed the door noiselessly behind
her, but not before she had seen Margaret Moffatt sink into Huntter's
arms; not before she heard the sigh of perfect content that escaped her.

Alone in the anteroom, the hideous truth flayed Priscilla into suffering
and clear vision.

"What shall I do?" she moaned, clasping her hands and swaying back and
forth. All the burden and responsibility of the world seemed cast upon
her. Then reason asserted itself.

"He will tell her! He is telling her now! Killing her love--killing her!
Oh, my God!"

Then she shrank from the thought that she would, in a few moments, have
to face her friend! How could she, when she remembered that holy night of
confession in the little Swiss village? Again she moaned, "Oh! my God!"
But she was spared that scene. Moments, though they seemed ages, passed,
and then Huntter called:

"Miss Glynn!"

She hardly recognized his voice. It was--triumphant, thrilling. It rang
boldly, commandingly. When she entered, Huntter was alone. Gone was the
guest; gone the mass of golden roses. Huntter turned a face glowing and
co