avily.

'Why should she know?' demanded Vincent, impatiently; 'you don't mean
that that infernal Caffyn knows?'

'No, no,' replied Mark, in all sincerity; 'Caffyn doesn't know--how
could he? But you can't hide these things: you--you may have talked
about it yourself already!'

'I have not talked about it!' said Vincent, sharply; 'perhaps I was
not too proud of having been gulled so easily. Can't you understand?
This secret rests between you and me at present, and I shall never
breathe a word of it--you can feel perfectly safe--you are Mabel's
husband!'

It is to be feared that Vincent's manner was far enough from the
sublime and heroic; he gave up his book and his fame from the
conviction that he could not do otherwise; but it was not easy for all
that, and he did not try to disguise the bitter contempt he felt for
the cause.

Mark could not endure the humiliation of such a pardon--his spirit
rose in revolt against it.

'Do you think I will be forgiven like this?' he cried, recklessly. 'I
don't want your mercy! I won't take it! If you won't speak, I shall!'

Vincent had not expected any resistance from Mark, and this outburst,
which was genuine enough, showed that he was not utterly beneath
contempt, even then.

Holroyd's manner was less harsh and contemptuous when he next spoke:

'It's no use, Ashburn,' he said firmly; 'it's too late for all that
now--you _must_ accept it!'

'I shall not,' said Mark again. 'I've been a scoundrel, I know, but
I'll be one no longer; I'll tell the truth and give you back your own.
I will do what's right at last!'

'Not in that way,' said Vincent; 'I forbid it. I have the right to be
obeyed in this, and you shall obey me. Listen to me, Ashburn; you
can't do this--you forget Mabel. You have made her love you and trust
her happiness to your keeping; your honour is hers now. Can't you see
what shame and misery you will plunge her in by such a confession? It
may clear your conscience, but it must darken her life--and that's too
heavy a price to pay for such a mere luxury as peace of mind.'

'How can I go on deceiving her?' groaned Mark; 'it will drive me mad!'

'It will do nothing of the sort!' retorted Holroyd, his anger
returning; 'I know you better--in a couple of days it won't even
affect your appetite! Why, if I had not come over here, if I had gone
out again to India as you hoped I should, you were prepared to go on
deceiving her--your mind kept its balance well enough t