silence.

"Chevalier," said the priest, suddenly, but in his usual tone, and
without changing his position, "perhaps I owe you a more formal
apology than was possible last night; but when I found that
Mademoiselle Nairn--"

"Mme. de St. Just," I corrected.

"It is scarce worth while to keep up that fiction between us," he
said, as if waiving the most ordinary form in the world, and in
some manner I checked the cry of astonishment that was on my lips,
and remained silent while he continued. "When I found Mademoiselle
Nairn in your company, I too hastily assumed that it was by design
on your part."

I was so bewildered by this unconscious revelation that I could
make no reply; but, fortunately, he did not mark my agitation, and
went on as though speaking to himself: "Right or wrong, I have been
the means of keeping her from you thus far; and if I have sinned
in so doing, I must bear the consequence."

As he spake he turned and faced me, but by this I had recovered
command of myself, and saw that his thin face was flushed and drawn
with suffering. "Let me go on," he said, with decision. "I owe an
explanation to myself as well as to you."

Just what he said I cannot clearly recall. The revelation he had
made was so astounding, had so completely changed the whole complexion
of my outlook, that my brain could scarce apprehend the import of
his words. I only realised that Margaret was no longer beyond my
reach. The rest mattered not one whit.

When he ceased speaking, I briefly exposed what had been my position
throughout, without reserve or argument, leaving it to him to draw
his own conclusion.

"Chevalier," cried the priest, heartily, as I ended, "I feel that
any apology would be frivolous in the face of what you have told
me, but I can assure you no man was ever more satisfied to find
himself in the wrong than I."

"I take that as more than any apology," I returned, as sincerely.
"But to return to Sarennes. What use did he make of my letter?"

"He attempted such a use that the outcome of your meeting with him
is fully justified."

"It was justified as it was!" I objected. "I do not fight on trifles.
Do you mean, he tried to persuade Margaret that it referred to
her?"

"He did. And though I was enabled to save her from personal danger,
I could do nothing to relieve the distress he had wrought by these
means."

"The hound! It would have been a satisfaction to have known this
when I met him."

"Remember,