he room, she turned her eyes first toward one speaker and
then the other, wondering all the while how it was to end. If only she
had told Robert herself before this moment! She could not understand her
husband's passive attitude. She knew him to be slow to anger, yet she
also knew well the strength of the passion which lay controlled beneath
his calm exterior. What Covington had said and the manner in which he
had said it would, under ordinary circumstances, have aroused Gorham to
stern indignation. She could only attribute his present patience to an
uncertainty which lay in his own mind as to the truth of the story
which he had read; but when he answered Covington's questions,
indicating which choice he would make, she could endure it no longer.
Rising quickly, she stood between the two men, her face turned toward
Gorham.

"Robert," she said, "what do you mean? This man is asking you to give up
the Consolidated Companies."

"I understand it, Eleanor," Gorham replied. "I would prefer to do so
rather than have a single breath of scandal or even suspicion attach
itself to you."

Eleanor drew herself up very straight, and, paying no attention to
Covington, she addressed herself passionately to her husband.

"Look at me, Robert, look into my eyes, and tell me if you see there
anything of which I need to feel ashamed. You have read this story, now
you shall hear mine. It is one which you should have heard long ago,
Robert, but I hesitated to speak, not because I was ashamed of anything
which happened, but because I feared just the interpretation which has
now been put upon it. You know all about my marriage to Ralph Buckner;
you know all about Carina's death, and you shall know all which I am
able to tell any one, or which I myself know, of what happened during
the awful days which followed."

Eleanor's voice trembled, but the excitement of the moment kept her from
breaking down.

"When I lifted that little form from the trail and pressed it to my
heart I knew that she was dead. My one thought in the face of the awful
blow which had come to me was to get away from the man who had inflicted
it. Somehow, with Carina in my arms, I got upon the mare, and again I
strained the little body to my heart and forgot all else except my
overpowering grief. The mare walked on unguided, uncontrolled,--I knew
not where,--I cared not where. I believe I never should have stopped her
myself, but suddenly a man appeared by the side of th