against,--such a love makes the meanest man of worth. One word, frank
and open. By all that you hold most sacred in your creed, did you speak
the truth when you said that you never loved me?"

Beatrice bent down her head; she was abashed before this manly nature
that she had so deceived, and perhaps till then undervalued.

"Pardon, pardon," she said, in reluctant accents, half-choked by the
rising of a sob.

At her hesitation, Frank's face lighted as if with sudden hope. She
raised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then glanced where Leonard
stood, mournful and motionless. She shivered, and added firmly,

"Yes, pardon; for I spoke the truth, and I had no heart to give. It
might have been as wax to another,--it was of granite to you." She
paused, and muttered inly, "Granite, and--broken!"

Frank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, not even gazing
after Beatrice as she passed on, leaning on the arm of Lord L'Estrange.
He then walked resolutely away, and watched the boat that the men were
now lowering from the side of the vessel. Beatrice stopped when she came
near the place where Violante stood, answering in agitated whispers her
father's anxious questions. As she stopped, she leaned more heavily upon
Harley. "It is your arm that trembles now, Lord L'Estrange," said she,
with a mournful smile, and, quitting him ere he could answer, she bowed
down her head meekly before Violante. "You have pardoned me already,"
she said, in a tone that reached only the girl's ear, "and my last words
shall not be of the past. I see your future spread bright before me
under those steadfast stars. Love still; hope and trust. These are the