outward things, he could not deaden hearing; and words reached him
which, while he strove not to hear, seemed to be traced by a dagger's
point upon his heart, and from very physical agony deprived him of
strength to move.

"And thou wilt give me no reason--idle, weak as it must be--thou wilt
refuse me even an excuse for thy perjury?" rung on the still air, in
the excited tones of Arthur Stanley. "Wealth, beauty, power--ay, they
are said to be omnipotent with thy false sex; but little did I dream
that it could be so with thee; and in six short months--nay, less
time, thou couldst conquer love, forget past vows, leap over the
obstacle thou saidst must part us, and wed another! 'Twas short space
to do so much!" And he laughed a bitter, jibing laugh.

"It was short, indeed!" faintly articulated Marie; "but long enough to
bear."

"To bear!" he answered; "nay, what hadst thou to bear? The petted
minion of two mighty sovereigns, the idol of a nation--came, and
sought, and won--how couldst thou resist him? What were my claims to
his--an exile and a foreigner, with nought but my good sword, and a
love so deep, so faithful (his voice softened), that it formed my very
being? But what was love to thee before ambition? Oh, fool, fool that
I was, to believe a woman's tongue--to dream that truth could dwell in
those sweet-sounding words--those tears, that seemed to tell of grief
in parting, bitter as my own--fool, to believe thy specious tale!
There could be no cause to part us, else wherefore art thou Morales's
wife? Thou didst never love me! From the first deceived, thou calledst
forth affection, to triumph in thy power, and wreck the slender joys
left to an exile! And yet I love thee--oh, God, how deeply!"

"Arthur!" answered Marie, and her bloodless lips so quivered, they
could scarcely frame the word--"wrong I have done thee, grievous
wrong; but oh! blast not my memory with injuries I have not inflicted.
Look back; recall our every interview. Had I intended to deceive, to
call forth the holiest feelings of the human heart, to make them a
mock and scorn, to triumph in a power, of whose very existence till
thou breathed love I was unconscious--should I have said our love
was vain--was so utterly hopeless, we could never be other than
strangers--should I have conjured thee to leave--aye, and to forget
me, had I not felt that I loved too well, and trembled for myself yet
more than for thee? Oh, Arthur, Arthur, do not add to the b