e the
pearls you gave me or an imitation."

Hardly knowing what he did, he walked to a table, on which stood a tall
lamp that gave a brilliant light. Beverley watched him. There was no
emotion whatever on her face. After a moment he spoke: "These are
genuine pearls," he admitted, after a heavy silence. "And I have reason
to believe from certain marks that they are the pearls I bought for you,
the queen's pearls. If you give me your word, that since I put them into
your hands you did not part with them to Justin O'Reilly, as I have
believed, I will beg your forgiveness on the knees of my soul. I will
confess to you--as I once expected you to confess to me."

"Hush! There's someone at the door!" Beverley cut him short.

It was Leontine who knocked, and paused on the threshold. "Will Madame
have the kindness to step into the hall," she asked. As her mistress
moved toward her, she retired, and it was not until they both stood at
some distance from the door that the Frenchwoman spoke.

"I beg Madame's pardon for disturbing her," she apologized, "but I dare
not delay. The lady, Mees Blackburne, if that is her name, was about to
start back to town, but remembered a commission she had been given at
the apartment; to bring a telegram for me. I opened it, to find that for
me there is no sense. I know no Stephen; but----"

"Stephen!" Beverley gasped the name, and snatched from the woman's hand
an open telegram she held. She read it, and then without a word or cry,
collapsed in a dead faint. With a shriek of fear Leontine tried to catch
the swaying figure; but the best she could do was to break the fall.
When Roger reached the door it was to find Beverley in a white heap on
the floor with the Frenchwoman kneeling by her side. He caught his wife
up, and, carrying her back into his room, laid her on the bed.

"Let everybody be told that dinner will be delayed half an hour," he
said, and shut the door in Leontine's face. She snatched the dropped
telegram and whisked off to obey the master's command.

XXXVIII

WHO IS STEPHEN?

As Roger stood looking down at Beverley she opened her eyes.

"Stephen is dead!" she muttered. "Stephen--is dead."

"Who is Stephen?" Roger asked shortly.

"Oh, Roger!" she appealed to him, breaking into sobs. "My poor Stephen!
I shall never see him again. All my sacrifices--in vain!"

"Who is Stephen?" Roger repeated.

She held up her arms, without answering his questions. "Roger--comfort