what I have to tell you. After that I will go away into the
darkness, never to trouble you by my presence again."

"But tell me," she said almost piteously, "I--I am afraid I am ill, and
don't understand. But you are Radford--that is, Radford Leicester; and,
as for the other----"

"There is no other, there never was any other. He was simply my great
lie, the lie by which I wished to work my will. Radford Leicester never
died, really died--he only pretended. He practised a fraud, a cruel,
unworthy fraud; but he never died. He died to the world, that is all. I
have been the Eastern stranger all the time--an Eastern stranger with a
strange appearance. I have been that to deceive you. I am going to tell
you why; then everything will be plain, and then I will go away again."

He took a few steps across the room, and as he did so she saw the
Leicester she had known of olden time, and yet a new Leicester, with a
new light in his eyes, and with a ring in his voice she had never heard
before. Somehow, she did not know why, but in the dazed state of her
mind Ricordo had faded away. As Leicester had said, there was no Signor
Ricordo--there never had been such a person.

"I must needs speak of things that are painful to you," he said; "and
yet perhaps they will not be. They are painful to me. You remember the
day which should have been our wedding-day? You know that I came to you
with Winfield. The man Sprague had sent you a letter about me. Well, the
letter was true, and yet it was black lies. I tried to explain
everything to you, but you would not listen. You know whether you were
right in refusing."

He related the story of the wager. He did not spare himself; he only
told the bare, unvarnished truth. It was not a pleasant story to tell;
but he told it truly, while Olive sat and listened without sign or
motion.

"Yes, I did love you," he went on, "but I was not worthy of you. My
seeming reformation was only a mockery. I thought it was real at the
time, but it was not. If you had married me, I should have fallen again,
and perhaps I should have cursed you. I know it now and you will see
presently why what I say is true. But I was mad with anger, and I gave
way to my old vice. You had helped me to conquer it for a time, but all
the time I was at heart a bad man, all the time I was a drunkard. If you
had saved me really, I should not have given way again; I should not
have flown to it the moment you cast me off. Yes, I loved