ed, but I would tear my heart open
to the world this minute--'Oh, be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as
snow, thou shalt not escape calumny!'"

"If I follow you, old chap, Nancy observed some scene this afternoon in
which it occurred to her that I might have been an actor." There was
quick pain, a sinking in his heart.

"She had reason to know it was one of us--and if I had denied it was
I--"

"I _see_--why didn't you?"

"I thought she must surely have seen me--and besides"--his voice
softened with affection--"do you think, old chap, I would have shifted a
misunderstanding like that on to _your_ shoulders. Thank God, I am not
yet reduced to shirking the penalties of my own blameless acts, even
when they will be cruelly misconstrued."

"But you should have done so--It would mean nothing to me, and
everything to you--to that poor girl--poor Nance--always so helpless and
wondering and so pathetically ready to _believe_! She didn't deserve
that you take it upon yourself, Allan!"

"No--no, don't urge! I may have made mistakes, though I will say that
few men of my--well, my attractions! Why not say it bluntly?--few men of
my attractions, placed as I have been, would have made so few--but I
shall never be found shirking their consequences--it is not in my
nature, thank God, to let another bear the burden--I can always be a
man!--"

"But, old boy--you must think of poor Nancy--not of me!" Again he felt
the hurt of her suspicion.

"True--compassion requires that I think of her rather than of my own
pride--and I have--but, you see, it's too late. I committed myself
before I knew she didn't _know_!"

"Let her believe it is still a mistake--"

"No, no--it would be trickery--and it's impracticable--I as good as
confessed to her, you see--unless"--he brightened here and stopped in
his walk--"unless she could be made to believe that I meant to shield
you!"

"That's it! Really, you are an executor, Allan! Now we'll put the poor
girl easy in her mind again. I'll tell her you did it to shield me. You
know it's important--what Nancy thinks of you, old chap--she's your
wife--and--it doesn't matter a bit how meanly--she thinks of me--of
course not. I dare say it will be better for me if she _does_ think
meanly of me--I'll tell her at once--what was it I did?"

"No--no--she wouldn't believe you now. I dislike to say this, Bernal,
but Nancy is not always so trusting as a good woman should be--she has a
habit of wondering--but-