ou sure it is worth the taking?" she said.

"Quite sure," he answered quietly. "Shall I tell you how I know?"

Her eyes sank before his.

"You will do exactly as you choose."

He was silent for an instant, still intently searching her white face.
Then:

"Do you remember that night that you fainted in my arms?" he said. "Do
you remember opening your eyes in the boat? Do you know--can you
guess--what your eyes told me?"

She was silent; only again from head to foot she shivered.

He went on very quietly, as one absolutely sure of himself:

"I looked into your soul that night, and I saw your secret hidden away
in its darkest corner. And I knew it had been there for a long, long
time. I knew from that moment that, hate me as you might, you were mine,
as I have been yours for so long as I have known you."

She raised her eyes suddenly, stiffening in his grasp.

"And you expect me to believe that of you?" she said, a tremor that was
not of fear, in her voice.

"You do believe it," he answered with conviction.

She raised her hands with something of her old imperious grace, and laid
them on his arms, freeing herself with a single gesture.

"And all those years ago," she said, "when you made me believe you had
been trifling with me--"

"I lied!" said Hone. "It was the hardest thing I ever did. But something
had to be done. I did it to save you suffering."

She turned abruptly from him, moving blindly, till groping, she found
the mantelpiece, and leaned upon it. Then, her back to him, she spoke:

"And you succeeded in breaking my heart."

A sudden silence fell. Hone stood motionless, his hands fallen to his
sides. The dull roar of the streets beat up through the stillness like
the roar of a distant sea, bringing to mind a night long, long ago when
first he had met his little princess, when first the gay charm of her
personality had been cast upon him.

With a resolute effort he spoke.

"But you were scarcely more than a child," he said. "It--sure, it
couldn't have been as bad as that?"

At the sound of the pain in his voice she slowly turned.

"It was much worse than that," she said. "While it lasted, it was
intolerable. There were times when I thought it would drive me crazy.
But you--you were always there, and I think the sight of you kept me
sane. I hated you so. I had to show you that I didn't care."

Again he heard in her voice that tremor that was not of fear.

"As long as my husband lived," she