e no other wife than you," he answered, and with the note which he
held in his hand he toyed despondently. As yet he had not so much as
glanced at the address.

Something, a light, an intonation, and influence undiscerned yet
sentiable, stayed her steps. She halted in passing and looked him in the
face. And he, seeing that she hesitated, repeated with an accent sincere
as that which is heard in the voice of the moribund, "No other wife than
you."

"You say that Mrs. Feverill is your daughter?" she exclaimed. It may be
that the average woman, conscious of her own mobility, is more
inattentive of the past than of the present. But however that may be,
the assurance which Eden had just received seemed to affect her less
than the preceding announcement. "You say that she is your daughter,"
she repeated. "Why, you told me--You said--"

"I have told you nothing. Will you sit a moment and let me tell you
now?"

Coerced and magnetized, the girl moved back and sank down again on the
lounge. Usselex still toyed absently with the note, and as he too found
a seat, for the first time she recalled its contents. Then a shudder
beset her.

"I ought perhaps," he began, "to have been franker in this matter. But
my excuse, if it be one, is that I was dissuaded by your father. Before
I ventured to ask you to marry me, I told my story to him, and he
counselled silence. What I say to you now he will substantiate. Shall I
ring and ask him to come here?"

His words reached her from inordinate distances, across preceding days,
and out of and through the note which he held in his hand; and with them
came the acutest pain. "He is telling the truth," she reflected, "and I
deserve to die."

"Shall I ring?" he repeated.

She started and shook her head. "No, no," she replied. "Go on."

"I thank you," Usselex returned. "I can understand that enough has
occurred to shake your confidence. In the circumstances, it is good of
you to be willing to receive my unsupported word. But bear with me a
moment. You will see, I think, that I have done no wrong."

As he spoke she had but one thought, to repossess herself of the note.
Could she but get it and tear it and set it aflame, out of the cinders
life might re-arise.

"You may remember," he continued, "what I said of myself, 'things have
not always been pleasant with me.' You knew as a child what it is to
lose a mother, but think what it must be to have a mother and have that
mother ignore your e