"My duties--," began Brandon.

"Oh! bother your duties. Tell me the truth."

"I will, if you let me," returned Brandon, who had no intention
whatever of doing anything of the sort. "My duties now occupy my time
in the evening----"

"That will not do," interrupted Mary, who knew enough of a guardsman's
duty to be sure it was not onerous. "You might as well come to it and
tell the truth; that you do not like our society." And she gave him a
vicious little glance without a shadow of a smile.

"In God's name, Lady Mary, that is not it," answered Brandon, who was
on the rack. "Please do not think it. I cannot bear to have you say
such a thing when it is so far from the real truth."

"Then tell me the real truth."

"I cannot; I cannot. I beg of you not to ask. Leave me! or let me
leave you. I refuse to answer further." The latter half of this
sentence was uttered doggedly and sounded sullen and ill-humored,
although, of course, it was not so intended. He had been so perilously
near speaking words which would probably have lighted, to their
destruction--to his, certainly--the smoldering flames within their
breast that it frightened him, and the manner in which he spoke was
but a tone giving utterance to the pain in his heart.

Mary took it as it sounded, and, in unfeigned surprise, exclaimed