and put it into his hand. "Paint in his face. Quick!
Paint in his face. Put all his wickedness there."

Hagar came close to her. "You hate him?" he said, and took the brush.

She did not answer by word, but shook her head wearily, as to some one far
off, expressing neither yes nor no.

"Why?" he said quietly--all their words had been in low tones, that they
might not be heard--"why, do you wear that ring, then?"

She looked at her hand with a bitter, pitiful smile. "I wear it in memory
of that girl who died very young"--she pointed to the picture--"and to
remind me not to care for anything too much lest it should prove to be a
lie." She nodded softly to the picture. "He and she are both dead; other
people wear their faces now."

"Poor woman!" he said in a whisper. Then he turned to the canvas and,
after a moment, filled in from memory the face of Mark Telford, she
watching him breathlessly, yet sitting very still.

After some minutes he drew back and looked at it.

She rose and said: "Yes, he was like that; only you have added what I saw
at another time. Will you hear the sequel now?"

He turned and motioned her to a seat, then sat down opposite to her.

She spoke sadly. "Why should I tell you? I do not know, except that it
seemed to me you would understand. Yet I hope men like you forget what is
best forgotten; and I feel--oh, do you really care to hear it?"

"I love to listen to you."

"That girl was fatherless, brotherless. There was no man with any right to
stand her friend at the time--to avenge her--though, God knows, she wished
for no revenge--except a distant cousin who had come from England to see
her mother and herself; to marry her if he could. She did not know his
motives; she believed that he really cared for her; she was young, and
she was sorry for his disappointment. When that thing happened"--her eyes
were on the picture, dry and hard--"he came forward, determined--so he
said--to make the deceiver pay for his deceit with his life. It seemed
brave, and what a man would do, what a southerner would do. He was an
Englishman, and so it looked still more brave in him. He went to the man's
rooms and offered him a chance for his life by a duel. He had brought
revolvers. He turned the key in the door and then laid the pistols he had
brought on the table. Without warning the other snatched up a small sword
and stabbed him with it. He managed to get one of the revolvers, fired,
and brought the man down