'Mr. Holroyd has every right
to be here, my dear Mrs. Featherstone, as you'll allow when I tell you
who he is. He has too much diffidence to assert himself. Mr. Ashburn
has admitted that he did not write "Illusion:" he might have added
that he stole the book in a very treacherous and disgraceful way. I am
sorry to use words of this sort, but when you know all, you will
understand that I have some excuse. Mr. Holroyd can tell you the story
better than I can: he is the man who has been wronged, the real author
of "Illusion"!'

'I've done him a good turn there,' he thought; 'he can't very well
turn against me after that!'

A terrible silence followed his words; Vincent's brain whirled, he
could think of nothing. Mabel was the first to move or speak: she went
to Mark's side as he stood silent and alone before his accuser, and
touched his arm. 'Mark,' she said in an agonised whisper, 'do you
hear? ... tell them ... it is not true--oh, I can't believe it--I
won't--only speak!'

Vincent's heart swelled with a passionate devotion for her as she
raised her fair face, blanched and stricken with an agony of doubt and
hope, to her husband's averted eyes. How she loved him. What would
_he_ not have given for love like that? His own feelings were too true
and loyal, however, to wish even for a moment to see the love and
faith die out of her face, slain for ever by some shameful confession.

Was it too late to save her even now? His brain cleared suddenly--a
way of escape had opened to him.

In the meantime two newcomers had entered. Mr. Featherstone, hearing
voices, had brought up Mr. Langton, who had 'looked in' on his way
from the House, and for some time remained under the impression that
they had interrupted some kind of informal rehearsal. 'Still at the
theatricals, eh?' he observed, as he came in. 'Go on, don't let us
disturb you. Capital, capital!' 'Langton,' whispered the other,
pulling him back, 'they're--they're _not acting_--I'm afraid
something's the matter!' and the two waited to gather some idea of
what was happening.

Before Mark could reply, if he meant to reply, to Mabel's appeal,
Vincent had anticipated him. 'Mrs. Ashburn--Mabel,' he said, 'you are
right to trust in his honour--it is _not_ true. I can explain
everything.'

The instant joy and relief in her face as she clung fondly to Mark's
arm repaid him and gave him strength and courage to go on. Mark looked
round with a stunned wonder. What could be sa