why he comes."

They were in the library, for, knowing Lillian's fondness for the room
which held no dark memories for her, my lady conquered her dislike and
often sat there. As she spoke, the girl glided into the deep recess of a
bay window and drew the heavy curtains just as Paul's step sounded at
the door.

Hiding her agitation with a woman's skill, my lady rose with
outstretched hand to welcome him. He bowed but did not take the hand,
saying, in a voice of grave respect in which was audible an undertone of
strong emotion, "Pardon me, Lady Trevlyn. Hear what I have to say; and
then if you offer me your hand, I shall gratefully receive it."

She glanced at him, and saw that he was very pale, that his eye
glittered with suppressed excitement, and his whole manner was that of a
man who had nerved himself up to the performance of a difficult but
intensely interesting task. Fancying these signs of agitation only
natural in a young lover coming to woo, my lady smiled, reseated
herself, and calmly answered, "I will listen patiently. Speak freely,
Paul, and remember I am an old friend."

"I wish I could forget it. Then my task would be easier," he murmured in
a voice of mingled regret and resolution, as he leaned on a tall chair
opposite and wiped his damp forehead, with a look of such deep
compassion that her heart sank with a nameless fear.

"I must tell you a long story, and ask your forgiveness for the offenses
I committed against you when a boy. A mistaken sense of duty guided me,
and I obeyed it blindly. Now I see my error and regret it," he said