ed."

He sighs wearily.

"Who shall blame her?" he says, with deepest melancholy.

"I blame her," cries Dulce, passionately. "Nay, more, I hate and despise
her. She has seen you, known you. She must, therefore, be
_mad--blind_--to credit so vile a thing of you. And you, my saint, my
darling, what have you not endured all this time! Knowing everything,
bearing everything, without a murmur or reproach. Her scorn, her
contempt. Oh, Fabian! at least you do not suffer alone, for I suffer
with you."

"That only adds another drop to my cup," replies he, gently. "It does
not comfort me. I had some faint pleasure in the thought that you and
she were friends, and now, even that belief is denied me. _I_ have
severed you. What have I to do with either she or you? My misfortune is
my own, let it be so. Your tears only aggravate my pain, my dear,
_dear_ little sister."

He draws her closer to him, and kisses her warmly. Is she not the one
being who has clung to him, and loved him, and believed in him through
good and evil report?

"Who could dream she was so deceitful?" says Dulce, tearfully, alluding
to the unhappy Portia. "I never once even suspected the real truth. Why,
over and over again she has spoken of you, has compelled me to discuss
you, has seemed to court the subject of--"

"Spoken of _me_!"

"Yes, often--often, hundreds of times. She seemed never to tire of you
and your history; I thought she--"

Dulce hesitates.

"Go on; you thought she--"

"Well, then," recklessly, "I thought she was in love with you; I was
_sure_ of it."

"Dulce," sharply, "you forget yourself. What are you saying? Do you
think your cousin would like you to speak like this?"

"I don't care what she likes," cries the rebel, angrily; "as I am
speaking like this, I hope she wouldn't. When I think how good you have
always been to her, how you gave her your friendship--your--" her voice
fails her, and in a whisper, she adds, "_your love_."

"Do not let us discuss this subject any more," says Fabian; though he
speaks quickly one can hear the keen anguish in his tone. "Why could I
not give her my friendship? Is it her fault that she cannot believe?"

"You would defend her!"

"I would be just. Is she the _only_ one who feels distrust, who only
half credits my version of the miserable story? Here, in this very
house, are there none who hesitate between faith and unfaith? You have
faith in me, and Roger had."

"Oh, yes, yes, _yes_!" crie