drew him to the same sofa where that
very morning they had sat when she had let him kiss her. This thought
was extra pain.

He was so very quiet he frightened her, and his gray eyes looked into
hers with such a world of despair, but no reproach.

"Sabine," he commanded in a voice out of which had vanished all life and
hope, "tell me the whole story, my dear love."

She clasped her hands convulsively--so the dreaded moment had come!
There would be no use in making any excuses or protestations, her duty
now was to master herself and collect her words to tell him the truth.
The utter misery in his noble face wrung her heart, so that her voice
trembled too much to speak at first; then she controlled it and began.

* * * * *

So all was told at last.

Then Henry took her two cold hands again and drew her up with him as he
rose.

"Sabine," he said with deep emotion, his heart at breaking point, but
all thought of himself put aside in the supreme unselfishness of his
worship; "Sabine, to-morrow I will prove to you what true love means.
But now, my dearest, I will say good-night. I think I must go to my
room for a little; this has been a tremendous shock."

He bent and kissed her forehead with reverence and blessing, as her
father might have done, and, hiding all further emotion, he walked
steadily from the room.

CHAPTER XXI

When Lord Fordyce found himself alone, it felt as if life itself must
leave him, the agony of pain was so great, the fiendish irony of
circumstances. It almost seemed that each time he had intended to do a
good thing, he had been punished. He had left Arranstoun for the best
motive, and so had not seen Sabine and thus saved himself from future
pain; he had taken Michael to Heronac out of kindly friendship, and this
had robbed him of his happiness. But, awful as the discovery was now, it
was not half so terrible as it would have been if the truth had only
come to him later, when Sabine had become his wife. He must be thankful
for that. Things had always been inevitable; it was plain to be
understood that she had loved Michael all along, and nothing he
personally could have done with all his devotion could have changed this
fact. He ought to have known that it was hopeless and that he was only
living in a fool's paradise. Never once had he seen the light in her
eyes for himself which sprang there even at the mention of Michael's
name. What was this tremend