here the marquis still lingered. He was standing
in the window when I entered, and turned with quite a bright face to
greet me. But that brightness soon vanished as he met my glance, and it
was with something like dismay that he commented upon my paleness, and
asked if I were ill.

I told him I was ill at ease; that events of a most serious nature were
transpiring in the house; that he was concerned in them heavily,
grievously; that I could not rest till I had taken him into my
confidence, and shown him upon what a precipice he was standing.

He evidently considered me demented, but as he looked at me longer, and
noted my steady and unflinching gaze, he gradually turned pale, and
uttered, in irrepressible anxiety, the one word--"Honora!"

"Miss Urquhart is well," I began, "and is as ignorant as yourself of the
shadows that hover over her. She is all innocence and truth, sir. Honor,
candor and purity dwell in her heart, and happiness in her eyes. Yet is
that happiness threatened by the worst calamity that can befall a
sensitive human being, and if you hold her in esteem--"

"_Ma foi!_" he broke in, with violent impetuosity. "I do not esteem her;
I love her. What are these dreadful secrets? How is her happiness
threatened? Tell me without hesitation, for I have entreated her to be
my wife, and she--"

"She thinks it is a parent's whim, alone, which keeps her from
responding fully to your wishes," I finished. "But madame's objections
have deeper ground than that. Miserable woman as she is, she has some
idea of honor left. She knew her daughter could not safely marry into a
high and noble family, and so--"

"What is this you say?" came again in the quick and hurried tones of
despair. "Mrs. Urquhart--"

"Wait," I broke in. "You call her Mrs. Urquhart, but she has no claim to
that title. She and Edwin Urquhart have never been married."

He recoiled sharply, with a gesture of complete disbelief.

"How do you know?" he demanded. "They are strangers to you. I have known
them in their own home. All the world credits their marriage, and--"

"All the world does not know what transpired in this house sixteen years
ago, when Edwin Urquhart stopped here with his bride on his way to
France."

He stared, seemed shaken, but presently hastened to remark:

"Ah, madame, you acknowledge that she is his wife. You said bride. One
does not call a woman by that name without acknowledging a marriage
service."

"The woman he brough