uerite saw the flash of his eye,
and the resolute expression his mouth assumed as he kept back the words
which had been on his lips. She laid her hand gently on his arm.

"M. de la Pommeraye," she said, "you have proved yourself a true and
devoted friend to me. I know that I can never hope to repay your
unselfish sacrifices; nor can I ever express even a small part of my
gratitude for all that you have so nobly done. Nay, listen to me----" as
Charles was about to interrupt her. "I feel more deeply than I can tell
you; you must let me speak this once. I am not ungrateful, believe me."
Her voice trembled a little, though she controlled it instantly. "But I
am about to ask one more kindness at your hands. There has been enough
blood shed--too much. Unhappy woman that I am, how shall I render an
account of all the deaths of which I have been the cause?" She turned
away for a moment; and the rare sobs shook her slight figure. Charles
was awed into silence before a sorrow too deep for any words. At last
she turned to him, and with an imploring gesture said: "I beg of you to
spare my uncle's life."

La Pommeraye began his habitual stride up and down the room. His brow
was dark, and he gnawed his underlip savagely. That she should plead for
the life of the man who had brought all this upon her was to him
inexplicable. Was he then to be baulked of his revenge?

Marguerite stood awaiting his answer.

"Monsieur," she said at last, "will you add one more to my sorrows?"

The unutterable sadness of the tone went to La Pommeraye's heart.
Impulsively he knelt before her.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "if an angel from heaven had appeared to me and
asked me to have mercy on that villain, I should have perilled my own
soul rather than let him go unpunished. But now----"

His voice failed him. He took her hand and gazed into her face. All his
soul was in his eyes; and in that yearning look Marguerite read his
secret. He was about to speak, but she stopped him.

"Rise," she said gently, "you are too noble to kneel to me. You are my
best friend--the only friend I have in the world. Remember, I am
entirely alone. I trust you, Monsieur; I place myself absolutely in your
hands. Will you grant my request?"

She had chosen her words well. Charles saw that she had understood him,
and had wished to prevent his speaking of his love. The gentle reminder
of her helpless dependence on him called forth all his manhood and
chivalry, and silenced