said.

"But I have not forgotten, nor ever shall. Will you say you forgive me,
Margery?"

"For thinking I had poisoned you? How do you know I did not?"

"I have seen Scipio. Will you shrive me for that disloyalty, dear lady?"

"Did I not say I had forgotten it?"

"Thank you," I said, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. "Now one
thing more, and you shall send me to Father Matthieu. 'Tis a shameful
thing to speak of, but the thought of it rankles and will rankle till I
have begged you to add it to the things forgotten. That morning in your
dressing-room--"

She put up her hands as if she would push the words back.

"Spare me, sir," she begged. "There are some things that must always be
unspeakable between us, and that is one of them. But if it will help you
to know--that I know--how--how you came there--"

She was flushing most painfully, and I was scarce more at ease. But
having gone thus far, I must needs let the thought consequent slip into
words.

"Your father's motives have ever been misunderstandable to me. What
could he hope to gain by such a thing?"

I had no sooner said it than I could have bitten my masterless tongue.
For in the very voicing of the wonder I saw, or thought I saw, Gilbert
Stair's purpose. Since I had not made good my promise to die and leave
the estate to Margery, he would at least make sure of his daughter's
dowry in it by putting it beyond us to set the marriage aside as a thing
begun but not completed. So, having this behind-time flash of after-wit,
I made haste to efface the question I had asked.

"Your pardon, I pray you; I see now 'tis a thing we must both bury out
of sight. But to the other--the matter which has brought me hither; will
you put me in the way of finding Father Matthieu?"

We had talked on through the measures of a cotillion, and the dancers,
warm and wearied, were beginning to fill the entrance hall below. Our
poor excuse for privacy would be gone in a minute or two, and she spoke
quickly.

"You shall see Father Matthieu, and I will help you. But you must not
linger here. In a few days the army will be moving northward--Oh,
heavens! what have I said!"

"Nothing," I cut in swiftly; "you are speaking now to your husband--not
to the spy. Go on, if you please."

"We shall return to Appleby Hundred within the fortnight. There, if you
are still--if you desire it, you may meet the good _cure_, and--"

A much-bepowdered captain of cavalry was coming up the st