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friend? I have known you all your life." "I do not wish to continue that subject; and pardon me, Mr. McAllister, if I seem rude, but it is now past six o'clock, and I must leave here in twenty minutes. It is a long drive into town, and I must be at the opera on time." "I have something very important to say to you. My wife is dead." "What! Lady Margaret dead? I am really very sorry to hear that. She was always very kind to me. Poor Lady Margaret." "And do you know, Marie, what her death means to me?" "No, I don't quite follow you, Mr. McAllister. You say your wife is dead, I suppose you _mean_ she is dead." "Yes, yes, of course," replied Noel irritably, "but it means more. It means that I am free." "Free! What do you mean?" "Marie, can you ask me that? Can you pretend not to understand? For the last ten years my life has been a burden to me. The thought of you has ever been with me. The memories of Father Point, of the happy days spent there, haunt me always. And now, Marie, I have come to tell you that Dunmorton is yours, the Glen is yours, all that I have is yours, and Marie _I_ am yours." During this outburst Marie Gourdon's face grew at first crimson, then very white, and for a moment she did not answer; then she rose from her chair, and, looking straight at The McAllister, said in a very quiet tone, without the faintest touch of anger in it: "Noel McAllister, you are strangely mistaken in me. Do you think I am exactly the same person I was ten years ago? Do you think I am the same little country girl whose heart you won so easily and threw aside when better prospects offered?" "Marie, it was you who bade me go." "Yes, I bade you go. What else could I do? I saw you wished to be free. I saw that my feelings, yes--if you will have the truth--my love for you weighed as nothing in the scale against your newly-found fortune. I saw you waver, hesitate. _I_ did not hesitate. And now I am rich, I am famous, you come to me. You offer me that worthless thing,--your love. When I was poor, struggling alone, friendless, did you even write to me? Did you by word or look recognize me? No! The farce is played out. I wonder at your coming to see me after all." "Marie, listen; a word----" "No, not one word, Noel McAllister. I have said all I shall ever say to you. Dunmorton, the Glen, all your possessions are very fine things, but there are others I value infinitely more. Dear me! is that half-past six
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