Capítulo 19 de 28

"To-morrow, when he stands balked and discomfited, filled with impotent rage, and sees me carry her off before his eyes, I will give him something to console him. This little note to wit, and a full account of _your_ share in this conspiracy which robs him of his prey."

"You will not dare!" she breathed, her head erect, her eyes blazing.

"Dare!" and he laughed. "What is there to dare? Come, my lady! It is not my fault if you remain in ignorance of the nature of the man you are dealing with. Work with me and I will serve you, desert me--for it would be desertion--and I will thwart you. Which is it to be? You will write and send the note!"

She moved her hand.

"What else?"

A gleam of triumph shot from his small eyes. He thought for a moment.

"Only this" he said, "and it is your welfare that I am now thinking of. When Lord Leycester returns from his fruitless errand, he will be in a fit state for consolation. You can give it to him. I have greatly over-rated the ingenuity and tact of Lady Lenore Beauchamp if that tact and ingenuity does not enable her to bring Lord Leycester Wyndward to her feet before the month has passed."

Pale and humiliated, but still meeting his sneering contemptuous gaze with steadfast eyes, she inclined her head.

"Is that all?"

"That is all," he said. "I can rely on you. Yes, I think--I am sure I can. After all, our interests are mutual!"

She gathered her shawl round her, and moved toward the path.

He raised his hat.

"When next we meet, Lady Lenore, it will be as strangers who have nothing in common. The past will have been wiped out from both our minds and our lives. I shall be the chosen husband of Stella Etheridge and you will be the Lady Trevor and future Countess of Wyndward. I never prophesy in vain, my lady; I never prophesied more confidently than I do now. Good-night."

She did not return his greeting--scarcely looked at him, but glided quietly into the darkness.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Sleep kept afar off from Stella's eyelids that night. The momentous morrow loomed before her, at one moment filling her with a nameless dread, at another suffusing her whole being with an equally nameless ecstasy.

Could it be possible that to-morrow--in a few hours--she would be Leycester's wife? There was enough in the reflection to banish sleep for a week.

Let us do her justice. Love and not ambition was the sentiment that moved and agitated her. It was not the thought of the title and the wealth which awaited her, not the future Wyndward coronet which set her trembling and her heart throbbing, but the reflection that Leycester, her lover, her ideal of all that was great and noble, and manfully beautiful, would be her own, all her own.

At an early hour she heard Frank wandering up and down outside her door, and at last he knocked.

"Are you getting up, Stel?" he asked, in a whisper.

Stella opened the door and stood before him in her plain stuff dress, which Frank was wont to declare became her better than the satins and silks of a duchess, and he looked up at her with an admiring nod.

"That's right!" he said. "I've been up ages. I've taken my bag and hidden it in the lane. Is yours ready?"

She gave him a small handbag--gave it with a certain reluctance that hung about her still; but he took it eagerly.

"That's a good girl! It isn't too big! I can carry both of them. Keep up your spirits, Stel!" he added, smiling encouragingly, as he stole off with the bag.

The warning was not altogether unnecessary, for Stella, when she came down stairs and found the old man standing before his easel, his white locks stirred by the light wind which came through the open window, felt very near tears.

It was a great blot on her happiness that she could not go to him and throw her arms round his neck and say, "Uncle, to-day I am to be married to Lord Leycester; give me your blessing!"

As it was she went up to him and kissed him with more than her usual caressing tenderness.

"How quietly happy you always are, dear," she said, with a little tremulous undertone in her voice. "You will always be happy while you have your art, uncle."

"Eh!" he said, patting her arm, and letting his eye wander over her face. "Yes, art is long, life is short, Stella. Happy! yes; but I like to have you as well as my art. Two good things in life should make a man content."

"You have Frank, too," she said, as she poured out his coffee and drew him to the table.

Frank came in and breakfast proceeded. They were all very silent; the old man rapt in dreams, as usual--the two young ones stilled by the weight of their guilty secret.

Once or twice Frank pressed Stella's feet under the table encouragingly, and when they rose and Stella went to the window, he followed her and whispered:

"Good news, Stel!"

She turned her eyes upon him.

"I've just learned that the fellow Adelstone has gone to London. I was half afraid that he might turn up at the last moment and spoil our plans; but the groom at the vicarage, whom I just met, told me that Jasper Adelstone had been summoned to London on business."

Stella felt a sense of relief, though she smiled.

"Mr. Adelstone is your _bête noire_, Frank," she said.

He nodded.

"I'd rather have his room than his company, any day." Then, after a pause, he added, "I don't think we'd better start together, Stel. I'll walk on directly, and you can follow. Whatever you do, avoid a collision with Mrs. Penfold; her eyes are sharp, and there's something in your face this morning that would set her curiosity on the _qui vive_."

A few moments afterward he left the room, and Stella was left alone. Her heart beat fast, and, try as she would, she could not keep her eyes from the silent, patient figure at the easel, and at last she went up and stood beside him.

"You seem restless this morning, my child," he said. "Meditating any secret crime?" And he smiled.

Stella started guiltily.

"I wonder what you would say, what you would think, uncle," she murmured, with a little laugh that bordered on the hysterical, "if I were to do anything wrong--if I were to deceive you in anything?"

He stepped back to look at his picture.

"I should say, my dear, that the last shred of faith and trust in women to which I have clung had given way, and landed me in despair."

"No, no! Don't say that!" she said, quickly.

He looked at her with a sad smile.

"My dear," he answered, "I do not speak without cause. I have reason to be incredulous as to the faith and honesty of women. But my trust in you is as limitless as the sky yonder. I don't think you will destroy it, Stella," and he turned to his picture again.

The tears came into Stella's eyes, and she clung to his arm in silent remorse.

"Uncle!" she said, brokenly, then she stopped.

The clock chimed the half-hour; it was time that she started, if she intended to obey Leycester.

Unconsciously the old man helped her.

"You look pale this morning, my dear," he said, patting her shoulder. "Go and run in the meadows and get some color on your cheeks; I miss it."

Stella took up her hat, which was generally lying about ready to be snatched up, and kissed him without a word, and left the room.

Five minutes afterward she passed out into the lane and hurried toward the road.

Frank was waiting for her with boyish impatience.

"I thought you were never coming!" he exclaimed. "We haven't over much time," and he slung the two bags together and led the way; but Stella paused a moment to look back with a pang at her heart, and it was not until Frank seized her arm that she moved toward the railway station.

But once there, when the tickets were taken, the excitement buoyed her up. Frank, with the two bags, was perpetually on the alert, watching for someone they knew, and preparing to meet them with some excuse.

But no one of the village people appeared on the platform, and much to Frank's relief, the train drew up.

With all the pride of a chief conspirator and guardian, he put Stella into a carriage and was stepping in after her, when a groom came up to the door and touched his hat.

"Mr. Etheridge--Mr. Frank Etheridge, sir?" he said, respectfully.

Frank stared, but the man seemed prepared for some little hesitation, and without waiting for an answer, thrust a note into Frank's hand.

"From Lord Guildford, sir," he said.

The train moved off, and Frank tore open the envelope.

"Why, Stella," he exclaimed, in an excited whisper, though they were alone in the carriage, "it is from Lord Leycester. Look here! he wants us to get out at the station before London--at Vauxhall--he has changed his plans slightly," and he held the note out to her.

Stella took it. It was written on paper bearing the Wyndward crest; the hand-writing was exactly like that of Lord Leycester. No suspicion of its genuineness crossed her mind for a moment, but yet she said:

"But--Frank--isn't Lord Leycester in London?"

Frank thought a moment.

"Yes," he said; "but he must have sent this down to Lord Guildford; sent it down by special messenger--special train perhaps. It wouldn't matter to him what trouble or expense he took. And yet how careful he is. He asks us to destroy it at once. Tear it up, Stella, and throw it out of the window."

Stella read the note again, and then slowly and reluctantly tore it into small fragments and dropped it out of the window.

"Of course we must stop," said Frank. "I think I know what it is. Something had prevented him from meeting us, and he thought you would rather get out at a nearer station than go through the crowd at the terminus. Isn't it thoughtful and considerate of him?"

"He is always thoughtful and considerate," said Stella, in a low voice.

Then Frank launched forth in a pæan of praise.

There was nobody like Leycester; nobody so handsome and so brave or noble.

"You'll be the happiest girl in the whole world, Stel," he exclaimed, his blue eyes alight with excitement. "Think of it. And, Stella, you will let me see you sometimes; you will let me come and stay with you?"

And Stella, with a moist look about her eyes, put her hand on his arm and murmured:

"Where my home may be, there will be a sister's welcome for you, Frank."

"Don't be afraid I shall be a nuisance, Stel," he said. "I shan't bore you for long. I shall only want to come and see you and share your happiness; and I don't think Lord Leycester will mind."

And Stella smiled as she thought in her innermost heart how sure she was of Lord Leycester not minding.

The train was an express one, and stopped at very few stations, but when those stoppages occurred, Frank, in his character of guardian, always drew the curtains and kept a watch for intruders, notwithstanding that he had told the guard to lock the door.

"You see, it isn't as if you were an ordinary looking girl," he explained; "a man wouldn't get a glimpse of you without wanting to take second, and it's best to be careful. I'm engaged to watch over you, and I must do it."

He was so happy, so boyishly gratified at his own importance, that Stella could not help laughing.

"I believe you are thoroughly enjoying the wickedness of the thing, Frank," she said, with a little sigh that had not much of unhappiness.

"No," he said; "but I want to hear Lord Leycester say, 'Thank you, Frank,' and to see him smile when he says it. Do you think he will let me go with you, or will he send me back, Stel?"

Stella shook her head.

"I do not know," she answered; "I feel like a person groping in the dark. Go with us! Yes, you must go with us!" she added. "Frank, you must go with me!"

"I'll stay with you till doomsday, and go to the end of the world with you," he responded, "if he will let me!"

It seemed a long journey to both of them; to Frank, in his impatience; to Stella, in the whirl of excited and conflicting emotions. But at last they reached Vauxhall.

Frank got the door unlocked and gave up the tickets; then he stepped out on to the platform, telling Stella to remain in the carriage for a moment while he examined the ground.

But there was not much need for caution; as he stepped out, a thin, strange-looking old man came up to him.

"Mr. Etheridge!" he asked.

Frank replied in the affirmative.

The old man nodded.

"All right, sir; the brougham is waiting;" then he looked round expectantly, and Frank went and got Stella out.

The old man just glanced at her, not curiously, but in a mechanical sort of way, as if he were a machine, and he turned toward the carriage and took up the bags.

Stella laid her hand on Frank's arm with a questioning gesture; it was not exactly one of fear or of suspicion, but a strange, instinctive commingling of both sensations.

"Ask him, Frank!" she murmured.

Frank nodded, understanding her in a moment, and stopped the strange old man.

"Wait a moment," he said; "you come from----"

The man looked round.

"Better not mention names here, sir," he said. "I am obeying my orders. The brougham is waiting outside."

"It is all right," answered Frank; "he knows my name. He is quite right to be careful."

They followed the man down the stairs; a brougham was in waiting, as he had said, and he put the bags inside and held the door open for them to enter.

Stella paused--even at that moment she paused with the same instinctive feeling of distrust--but Frank whispered, "Be quick," and she entered.

The old man closed the door.

"You know where to drive," said Frank, in a low voice.

"I know, sir," he said, in the same expressionless, apathetic fashion, and mounted to the box.

Stella looked at the crowded streets through which they drove at a rapid pace, and a strange feeling of helplessness took possession of her. She would not own to herself that she was disappointed at Leycester's not meeting her, but his absence filled her with a vague alarm and disquietude, which she mentally assured herself were foolish and unwoman-like.

But the vastness and strangeness of the great city overwhelmed her.

"Do you know where Bruton street is?" she asked, in a low voice.

"No," said Frank; "but it must be in the West-end somewhere, of course. He must be going to Leycester's rooms. I wonder what prevented him from meeting us."

Stella wondered too, little dreaming that Leycester was pacing up and down the platform at Waterloo at that moment, and impatiently awaiting the arrival of the train that was, he thought, to bring his love.

"I expect," said Frank, "that something turned up at the last moment--something to do with the ceremony."

A sudden dash of color came into Stella's face, but it went again the next moment, and she leant back and watched the people hurrying along the streets, with eyes that scarcely saw them.

The brougham, a well appointed one, driven by a man in plain livery, seemed to wind about a great deal and cover a long stretch of ground, but at last it drove under an archway and into a quiet square, and stopped before one of a series of tall and dingy-looking houses.

Frank let down the window as the old man opened the door.

"Is this Bruton street?" said Frank.

"Yes, sir," said the man, quietly.

Frank stepped out and looked around.

"These are lawyers' offices," he said.

"Quite right, sir," was the response. "The gentleman is waiting for you."

"You mean----" said Frank, inquiringly.

"Lord Leycester Wyndward," he replied.

Frank turned to Stella.

"It is all right," he said, in a low voice.

Stella got out and looked round. The air of quietude and gloomy depression seemed to strike her, but she put her hand on Frank's arm, and then followed the man into the doorway.

"Come as gently as you can, sir," he muttered. "It's better the young lady shouldn't be seen."

Frank nodded, and they passed up the stairs. Frank threw a glance at the numerous doors.

"They are lawyers' chambers," he said, in a low voice. "I think I understand; it is something--some deed or other--Leycester wants you to sign."

Stella did not speak. The chill which had fallen on her as she alighted seemed to grow keener.

Suddenly the man stopped before a door, the name on which had been covered over with a sheet of paper.

Could they have seen through it, and read the name of Jasper Adelstone, there would have been time to draw back, but unsuspectingly they followed the man in, the door closed, and unseen by them, was locked.

"This way, sir," said Scrivell, and he opened the inner door and ushered them in.

"If you'll take a seat for a moment, sir," he said, putting two chairs forward, and addressing Frank, "I will tell him you have arrived," and he went out.

Stella sat down, but Frank went to the window and looked out, then he came back to her restlessly and excitedly.

"I wonder where he is--why he does not come?" he said, impatiently.

Stella looked up; her lips were trembling.

"There, don't look like that!" he exclaimed, with a smile. "It is all right!"

As he spoke he drew near the table aimlessly, and as aimlessly glanced at the piles of papers with which it was strewn.

"I am making you nervous with my excitement----" he stopped suddenly, and snatched up one of the papers. It was a folded brief, and bore upon its surface the name of Jasper Adelstone, written in large letters.

He stared at it for a moment as if it had bitten him, then, with an inarticulate cry, he flung it down and sprang toward her.

"Stella, we have been trapped! Come! quick!"

Stella sprang to her feet, and instinctively moved to the door: but before she had taken a couple of steps the door opened, and Jasper Adelstone stood before them.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Jasper Adelstone closed the door behind him, and stood looking at them.

His face was very pale, his lips were tightly compressed, and there was that peculiar look of decision and resolution which Stella had often remarked.

True it struck her as ominous--a chill, cold and awesome, ran through her--but she stood and confronted him with a face that, though as pale as his own, showed no sign of fear; her eyes met his own with a haughty, questioning gaze.

"Mr. Adelstone," she said, in low, clear, indignant tones, "what does this mean?"

Before he could make any reply, Frank stepped between them, and with crimson face and flashing eyes confronted him.

"Yes! what does this mean, Mr. Adelstone?" he echoed. "Why have you brought us here--entrapped us?"

Jasper Adelstone just glanced at him, then looked at Stella--pale, beautiful and indignant.

"I fear I have offended you," he said, in a low, clear voice, his eyes fixed with concentrated watchful intentness on her face.

"Offended!" echoed Stella, with mingled surprise and anger. "There is no question of offense, Mr. Adelstone. This--this that you have done is an insult!"

And her face flushed hotly.

He shook his head gravely, and his hands clasped themselves behind his back, where they pecked at each other in his effort to remain calm and self-possessed under her anger and scorn.

"It is not an insult; it was not intended as an insult. Stella----"

"My name is Etheridge, Mr. Adelstone," Stella broke in, calmly and proudly. "Be good enough to address me by my title of courtesy and surname."

"I beg your pardon," he said, in slow tones. "Miss Etheridge, I am aware that the step I have taken--and I beg you to mark that I do not attempt to deny that it is through my order that you are here----"

"We know all that!" interrupted Frank, fiercely. "We don't wish for any verbiage from you; we only want, my cousin and I, a direct answer to our question, 'Why have you done this?' When you have answered it, we will leave you as quickly as possible. If you don't choose to answer, we will leave you without. In fact, Stella"--and he turned with a glance of contempt and angry scorn at the tall motionless figure with the pale face and compressed lips--"in fact, Stella, I don't think we much care to know. We had better go, I think, and leave it to someone else to demand an explanation and reparation."

Jasper did not look at him, took no notice whatever of the boyish scorn and indignation: he had borne Stella's; the boy's could not touch him after hers.

"I am ready to afford you an explanation," he said to Stella, with an emphasis on the 'you.'

Stella was silent, her eyes turned away from him, as if the very thought of him were distasteful to her.

"Go on, we are waiting!" exclaimed Frank, with all a boy's directness.

"I said that I would afford 'you,' Miss Etheridge," said Jasper. "I think it would be better if you were to hear me alone."

"What!" shouted Frank, drawing Stella's arm through his.

"Alone," repeated Jasper. "It would be better for you--for all of us," he repeated, with a significance in his voice that sank to Stella's heart.

"I won't hear of it!" exclaimed Frank. "I am here to protect her. I would not leave her alone with you a moment. You are quite capable of murdering her!"

Then, for the first time, Jasper noticed the boy's presence.

"Are you afraid that I shall do you harm?" he said, with a cold smile.

He knew Stella.

The cold sneer stung her.

"I am not afraid of those I despise," she said, hotly. "Go, Frank. You will come when I call you."

"I shall not move," he responded, earnestly. "This man--this Jasper Adelstone--has already shown himself capable of an illegal, a criminal act, for it is illegal and criminal to kidnap anyone, and he has kidnapped us. I shall not leave you. You know," and he turned his eyes reproachfully on Stella, "I am responsible for you."

Stella's face flushed, then went pale.

"I know," she said, in a low voice and she pressed his arm. "But--but--I think it is better that I should listen to him. You see"--and her voice dropped still lower and grew tremulous, so that Jasper Adelstone could not hear it--"you see that we are in his power; we are his prisoners almost; and he will not let us go till I have heard him. It will be more prudent to yield. Think, Frank, who is waiting all this time."

Frank started, and appeared suddenly convinced.

"Very well," he whispered. "Call me the moment you want me. And, mind, if he is impertinent--he can be, you know--call at once."

Then he moved to the door, but paused and looked at Jasper with all the scorn and contempt he could summon up into his boyish face.

"I am going, Mr. Adelstone; but, remember, it is only because my cousin wishes me to. You will say what you have to say, quickly, please; and say it respectfully, too."

Jasper held the door for him calmly and stolidly, and Frank passed out into the outer office. There he put on his hat and made for the door, struck by a sudden bright idea. He would drive to Bruton Street and fetch Lord Leycester. But as he touched the door old Scrivell rose from his seat and shook his head.

"Door's locked, sir," he said.

Frank turned purple.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Let me out at once; immediately."

The old man shrugged his shoulders.

"Orders, sir; orders," he said, in his dry voice, and resumed his work, deaf to all the boy's threats, entreaties, and bribes.

Jasper closed the door and crossing the room laid his hand on a chair and signed respectfully to Stella to sit down, but without a word she drew a little away and remained standing, her eyes fixed on his face, her lips tightly pressed together.

He inclined his head and stood before her, one white hand resting on the table, the other thrust into his vest.

"Miss Etheridge," he said, slowly, and with intense earnestness, "I beg you to believe that the course which I have felt bound to adopt has been productive of as much pain and grief to me as it can possibly have been to you----"

Stella just moved her hand with scornful impatience.

"Your feelings are a matter of supreme indifference to me, Mr. Adelstone," she said, icily.

"I regret that, I regret it with pain that amounts to anguish," he said, and his lips quivered. "The sentiments of--of devotion and attachment which I entertain for you, are no secret to you----"

"I cannot hear this," she said, impatiently.

"And yet I must urge them," he said, "for I have to urge them as an excuse for the liberty--the unpardonable liberty as you at present deem it--which I have taken."

"It is unpardonable!" she echoed, with suppressed passion. "There is no excuse--absolutely none."

"And yet," he said, still quietly and insistently, "if my devotion were less ardent, my attachment less sincere and immovable, I should have allowed you to go on your way to ruin and disaster."

Stella started and looked at him indignantly.

He moved his hand, slightly deprecatory of her wrath.

"I will not conceal from you that I knew of your destination, of your appointment."

"You acted the spy!" she articulated.

"I acted rather the guardian!" he said. "What kind of love, how poor and inactive that would be, which could remain quiescent while the future of its object was at stake!"

Stella put up her hand to silence him.

"I do not care--I will not listen to your fine phrases. They do not move me, Mr. Adelstone. To your devotion and--and attachment I am indifferent; I refuse to accept them. I await your explanations. If you have none to give, I will go," and she made a movement as if to depart.

"Wait, I implore, I _advise_ you."

Stella stopped.

"Hear me to the end," he said. "You will not permit me to allude to the passionate love which is my excuse and my warranty for what I have done. So be it. I will speak of it no more, if I can so control myself as to refrain from doing so. I will speak of yourself and--and of the man who plots your ruin."

Stella opened her lips, but refrained from speech, and merely smiled a smile of pitiless scorn.

"I speak of Lord Leycester Wyndward," said Jasper Adelstone, the name leaving his lips as if every word tortured them. "It is true, is it not, that this Lord Leycester has asked you to meet him at a place in London--at Bruton Street, his lodgings? It is true that he has told you that he was prepared to make you his wife!"

"And you will say that it is a lie, and ask me to believe you--_you_ against _him_!" she broke in, with a laugh that cut him like a whip.

"No," he said; "I will admit that it may be true--I think that it is possible that it may be true; and yet, you see, I have braved your wrath and, far worse, your scorn, and balked him."

"For a time," she said, almost beneath her breath--"for a time, a short time. I fear, Mr. Adelstone, that he will demand reparation, heavy reparation at your hands for such 'balking.'"

To save her life she could not have suppressed her threat.

"I do not fear Lord Leycester, or any man," he said. "Where you are concerned I fear only--yourself."

"Do you intend giving me the explanation, sir?" she demanded, impetuously.

"I have stepped in between him and his prey," he went on, still gravely, "because I thought, I hoped, that were time given you, though it were at the last moment, that you would see the danger which lay before you, and draw back."

"Thanks!" she said, scornfully--"that is your explanation. Having afforded it, be kind enough to open that door and let me depart."

"Stay!" he said, and for the first time his voice broke and showed signs of the storm that was raging within him. "Stay, Stella--I implore, I beseech of you! Think, consider for one moment to what doom your feet are carrying you! The man proposes--has the audacity to propose--a clandestine elopement, a secret marriage; he treats you as if you were not worthy to be his wife, as if you were the dirt under his feet! Do you think, dare you, blinded as you are by a momentary passion, dare you hope that any good can spring from such an union, that any happiness can follow such a shameful marriage? Dare you hope that this man's love--love!--which will not brave the temporary anger and contempt of his relations, can be strong enough to last a lifetime? Think, Stella! He is ashamed of you already; he, the heir to Wyndward, is ashamed to make you his bride before the world. He must lower and degrade you by a secret ceremony. What is his love compared with mine--with mine?" and in the fierce emotion of the moment he put his hand upon her arm and held her.

With a fierce, angry scorn, which no one who knew Stella Etheridge could have thought her capable of, she flung his hand from her and confronted him, her beautiful face looking lovely in its scorn and wrath.

"Silence!" she exclaimed, her breast heaving, her eyes darting lightning. "You--you coward! You dare to speak thus to me, a weak, defenseless girl, whom you have entrapped into listening to you! I dare you to utter them to him--him, the man you traduce and slander. You speak of love; you know not what it is! You speak of shame----" she paused, the word seemed to overcome her. "Shame," she repeated, struggling for breath and composure; "you do not know what that is. Shall I tell you? I have never felt it until now; I feel it now, because I have been weak enough to remain and listen to you! It is shameful that your hand should have touched me! It is shameful that I should have listened to your protestations of love--love! You speak of the shame which he would bring upon me! Well, then--listen for once and all!--if such shame were to befall me from his hand, I would go to meet it, yes, and welcome it, rather than take from yours all the honor which you could extend to me! You say that I am going to ruin and unhappiness! So be it; I accept your words--to silence you, learn from my own lips that I would rather bear such shame and misery with him, than happiness and honor with you. Have I--have I," she panted, "spoken plainly enough?" and she looked down at him with passionate scorn. He was white, white as death, his hands hung at his side clinched and burning; his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and render speech impossible.

Her scorn lashed him; every word fell like the thong of a knout, and cut into his heart; and all the while his eyes rested on hers with anguished entreaty.

"Spare me," he cried, hoarsely, at last. "Spare me! I have tried to spare you!"