ing me for
someone else."

He smiled as he gazed at her intently.

"For whom?" he said.

"I cannot say; some friend. It is an accidental resemblance, and once
more--I appeal to you as a gentleman to cease this persecution."

He shook his head sadly.

"Accidental resemblance? No. There is but one Marion on earth. No
woman ever resembled you in any way. This is impossible. Marion, be
merciful. After the night on which I saw you last, what must you think
of me? Of what manner of man could I be if, after striving so hard to
gain an interview like this, I could let you throw me over in so cruel a
way? Marion, for pity's sake. There must be stronger reasons than I
already know of to make you act like this."

She glanced round wildly for a moment or two, as if in dread that they
were being observed and his words were taking the attention of the
people around, then up at the coachman, but he sat erect and stolid, too
well schooled in his duties to have a thought or eyes for anything but
the beautiful pair of horses under his charge. Then, as she realised
the fact that they were perfectly unobserved by the busy throng around,
she recovered her passing composure, and said quite calmly, and with a
suggestion of pity in her tone for one who seemed to her to be suffering
from some slight mental aberration--

"Can you not see that you are mistaken?"

"No," he said, smiling sadly; "only that it is impossible."

There was a faint quiver of the lips, but it passed off, and her
beautiful eyes flashed, and the colour rose in her cheeks, as she made a
strong effort to be firm. Then there was a touch of anger in her voice
as she said coldly--

"Must I appeal to someone passing, sir, or to one of the police?"

Her words stung him to the quick, "No," he whispered huskily; "there is
no need. If you are made of steel and can act to me like this, I must
suffer; but do not insult me by treating me as if I were insane. I
could bear it from your brother; not from you, Miss Clareborough."

She winced slightly at the utterance of her name, and he fancied that
there was the light of compassion for one brief moment in her eyes.

His own face hardened now in the bitterness and despair of the moment as
he took out his pocket-book, and in spite of her self-command she
watched his action narrowly as he drew out the carefully-folded
handkerchief stained with blood.

"I saved this inadvertently," he continued. "Yours; marked w