my mother
believed--that she had broken with him--that all was saved. Then came a
letter from the maid, written at Kitty's direction, to say that she had
left her mistress--and they had started for Bosnia."

"No; I tried. But she seemed to shrink with horror from everything to do
with Verona. I have always supposed that fellow in some way got the
information he wanted--bought it no doubt--and pursued her. But that
she honestly meant to break with him I have no doubt at all."

Ashe said nothing.

"Think," said the Dean, "of the effect of that man's sudden
appearance--of his romantic and powerful personality--your wife alone,
miserable--doubting your love for her--"

Ashe raised his hand with a gesture of passion.

"If she had had the smallest love left for me she could have protected
herself! I had written to her--she knew--"

His voice broke. The Dean's face quivered.

"My dear fellow--God knows--" He broke off. When he recovered composure
he said:

"Let us go back to Lady Kitty. Regret is no word to express what I saw.
She is consumed by remorse night and day. She is also still--as far as
my eyes can judge--desperately ill. There is probably lung trouble
caused by the privations of the winter. And the whole nervous system is
shattered."

Ashe looked up. His aspect showed the effect of the words.

"Every provision shall be made for her," he said, in a voice muffled and
difficult. "Lady Alice has been told already to spare no expense--to do
everything that can be done."

"There is only one thing that can be done for her," said the Dean.

Ashe did not speak.

"There is only one thing that you or any one else could do for her," the
Dean repeated, slowly, "and that is to love--and forgive her!" His
voice trembled.

"Was it her wish that you should come to me?" said Ashe, after a moment.

"Yes. I found her at first very despairing--and extremely difficult to
manage. She regretted she had written to me, and neither Lady Alice nor
I could get her to talk. But one day"--the old man turned away, looking
into the fire, with his back to Ashe, and with difficulty pursued his
story--"one day, whether it was, the sight of a paralyzed child that
used to come to Lady Alice's lace-class, or some impression from the
service of the mass to which she often goes in the early mornings with
her sister, I don't know, but she sent for me--and--and broke down
entirely. She implored me to see you, and to ask you if she might li