d not."

"We see what his reformation was worth," said John Castlemaine.
"Evidently he was playing you false all the time."

Olive was silent.

"Now honestly, Olive," said her father, "suppose you had a chance of
altering the past, what would you do? Would you marry him?"

"No."

The word came from her lips before she knew she had uttered it. It
seemed as though her heart spoke for her. John Castlemaine breathed a
sigh of satisfaction.

"He was a bad, selfish, cynical man all the time, Olive," he said. "In
no possible light was his conduct excusable. A drunkard I could have
forgiven, if that were all, although you could never have married a
drunkard----"

"No," said Olive quietly.

"But to--no, I will not repeat it. The man forfeited all right to
respect."

"I want to get back home, father; I want to take up my work. I was a
coward to come away; let us go back with Mr. Sackville."

"Impossible, my dear; still, I will not keep you here against your will.
Perhaps to-morrow--but read your letters, Olive."

Almost mechanically she turned to her letters, and read them. They were
of no importance, and she skimmed them carelessly. Then she unfastened
the wrapper of one of the newspapers, and began to read. A minute later
she uttered a cry of pain as it fell from her hands.

"What is it, my dear?"

She did not speak; but looked away with a stony stare towards the
shining sea in the distance.

"Tell me, Olive, what is the matter?"

She pointed to the newspaper.

"He is dead," she said.

A look, almost like relief, came into John Castlemaine's face, and he
picked up the paper. As he read, a sensation, the like of which he had
never felt before, came into his heart. The paragraph described the
finding of Leicester's body on the steps by the side of the river near
the Blackfriars pier. It discussed the causes which led to it, and
pointed out that in all probability Leicester had committed suicide. It
hinted that possibly he had fallen into the river while in a state of
intoxication, but urged that the balance of evidence lay in the
direction of suicide. It referred to his career at Oxford, his great
intellectual gifts, and the hopes entertained by so many that he would
rise high in the councils of the nation. The event at Taviton, however,
had revealed the true state of affairs, and thus his tragic death added
another victim to the list of those who had been destroyed by England's
greatest curse.

When he