you will understand what suffering this
step has cost me."

"Yes," she murmured, faintly; "I may understand in time."

"While I have been sitting here," he went on, "I have been thinking it
all over, and I have come to a decision as to what will be best for you
and for me. You are Lady Arleigh of Beechgrove--you are my wife; you
shall have all the honor and respect due to your position."

She shuddered as though the words were a most cruel mockery.

"You will honor," she questioned, bitterly, "the daughter of a felon?"

"I will honor my wife, who has been deceived even more cruelly than
myself," he replied. "I have thought of a plan," he continued, "which
can be easily carried out. On our estate not twenty miles from
here--there is a little house called the Dower House--a house where the
dowagers of the family have generally resided. It is near Winiston, a
small country town. A housekeeper and two servants live in the house
now, and keep it in order. You will be happy there, my darling, I am
sure, as far as is possible. I will see that you have everything you
need or require."

She listened as one who hears but dimly.

"You have no objection to raise, have you, Madaline?"

"No," she replied, "it matters little where I live; I only pray that my
life may be short."

"Hush, my darling. You pain me."

"Oh, Norman, Norman," she cried, "what will they think of me--what will
they say--your servants, your friends?"

"We must not trouble about that," said Norman; "we must not pause to
consider what the world will say. We must do what we think is right."

He took out his watch and looked at it.

"It is eight o'clock," he said; "we shall have time to drive to Winiston
to-night."

There was a world of sorrowful reproach in the blue eyes raised to his.

"I understand," she said, quietly; "you do not wish that the daughter of
a felon should sleep, even for one night, under your roof."

"You pain me and you pain yourself; but it is, if you will bear the
truth, my poor Madaline, just as you say. Even for these ancient walls I
have such reverence."

"Since my presence dishonors them," she said, quietly, "I will go.
Heaven will judge between us, Norman. I say that you are wrong. If I am
to leave your house, I should like to go at once. I will go to my room
and prepare for the journey."

He did not attempt to detain her, for he well knew that, if she made
another appeal to him, he could not resist the impulse to clas