is none here!"

"I do not know in what I have offended you," said she. "Forgive

me; put me out of this suspense."

But I dared not tell her yet; I felt not sure of her; and at the

doubt, and under the sense of impotence it brought with it, I

turned on the poor woman with something near to anger.

"Madam," said I, "we are speaking of two men: one of them insulted

you, and you ask me which. I will help you to the answer. With

one of these men you have spent all your hours: has the other

reproached you? To one you have been always kind; to the other, as

God sees me and judges between us two, I think not always: has his

love ever failed you? To-night one of these two men told the

other, in my hearing - the hearing of a hired stranger, - that you

were in love with him. Before I say one word, you shall answer

your own question: Which was it? Nay, madam, you shall answer me

another: If it has come to this dreadful end, whose fault is it?"

She stared at me like one dazzled. "Good God!" she said once, in a

kind of bursting exclamation; and then a second time in a whisper

to herself: "Great God! - In the name of mercy, Mackellar, what is

wrong?" she cried. "I am made up; I can hear all."

"You are not fit to hear," said I. "Whatever it was, you shall say

first it was your fault."

"Oh!" she cried, with a gesture of wringing her hands, "this man

will drive me mad! Can you not put me out of your thoughts?"

"I think not once of you," I cried. "I think of none but my dear

unhappy master."

"Ah!" she cried, with her hand to her heart, "is Henry dead?"

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