stopped before her. She looked in his face; he frowned, but lowered his
eyes. She drew nearer, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and whispered for
a few moments in his ear. He raised his face suddenly: its features were
sharp and fixed; its hue was changed; it was livid and moveless, like a
face cut in gray stone. He staggered back a little and a little more, and
then a little more, and fell backward. Fortunately, the chair in which he
had been sitting received him, and he lay there insensible as a corpse.
When at last his eyes opened, there was no gleam of triumph, no shade of
anger, nothing perceptible of guilt or menace, in the young woman's
countenance. The flush had returned to her cheeks; her dimpled chin had
sunk upon her full white throat; sorrow, shame, and pride seemed
struggling in her handsome face, and she stood before him like a
beautiful penitent, who has just made a strange and humbling shrift to
her father confessor.

Next day, Marston was mounting his horse for a solitary ride through his
park, when Doctor Danvers rode abruptly into the courtyard from the back
entrance. Marston touched his hat, and said--

"I don't stand on forms with you, doctor, and you, I know, will waive
ceremony with me. You will find Mrs. Marston at home."

"Nay, my dear sir," interrupted the clergyman, sitting firm in his
saddle, "my business lies with you today."

"The devil it does!" said Marston, with discontented surprise.

"Truly it does, sir," repeated he, with a look of gentle reproof, for the
profanity of Marston's ejaculation, far more than the rudeness of his
manner, offended him; "and I grieve that your surprise should have