hief. No
thief he, Crystal, but just a quixotic man, who desired to
serve his country, our cause and you. That man was your
friend Mr. Clyffurde. I don't think that I was ever jealous
of him. I am not jealous of him now. Our love, Crystal, is
too great and too strong to fear rivalry from anyone. He
had taken the money from you because he knew that Victor de
Marmont, with a strong body of men to help him, would have
filched it from you for the benefit of the Corsican. He
took the money from you because he knew that neither you
nor the Comte would have listened to any warnings from him.
He took the money from you with the sole purpose of
conveying it to the King. Then I found him and taunted him,
until the temptation came to me to act the part of a coward
and a traitor. And this I did, Crystal, only because I
loved you--because I knew that I could never win you while
I was poor and in humble circumstances. I soon found out
that Clyffurde was a friend. I begged him to let me have
the money so that I might take it to the King and earn
consideration and a reward thereby. That was my sin,
Crystal, and also that I lied to you to disguise the sorry
role which I had played. Clyffurde gave me the money
because I told him how we loved one another--you and I--and
that happiness could only come to you through our mutual
love. He acted well, though in truth I meant to do him no
wrong. Later Victor de Marmont came upon me, and wrested
the money from me, and I was helpless to guard that for
which I had played the part of a coward.

"I have eased my soul by telling you this, Crystal, and I
know that no hard thoughts of me will dwell in your mind
whilst I do all that a man can do for honour, King and
country.

"Remember that the next few hours, perhaps, will atone for
everything, and that Love excuses all things.

"Yours in love and sorrow,

"MAURICE."

The letter, crumpled and damp, remained in Crystal's hand all the while
that she sat by the open window, and the sound of moving horses and men
in the distance conjured up before her eyes mental visions of all that
to-morrow might mean. The letter was damp with her tears now, they had
fallen incessantly on the paper while she re-read it a second time and
then re-read it again.

A quixotic man! Maurice said