tone of mentor, 'you know I
don't for a moment chide you, but is there not a great deal of unwomanly
weakness in your allowing yourself to be so overwhelmed by the sight of
what, after all, is no novelty? Every woman worthy of the name should, I
think, be able to look upon death with something like composure. Surely
you think so too?'

'Yes; I own it.'

His obtuseness to the cause of her indisposition, by evidencing his
entire freedom from the suspicion of anything behind the scenes, showed
how incapable Knight was of deception himself, rather than any inherent
dulness in him regarding human nature. This, clearly perceived by
Elfride, added poignancy to her self-reproach, and she idolized him the
more because of their difference. Even the recent sight of Stephen's
face and the sound of his voice, which for a moment had stirred a chord
or two of ancient kindness, were unable to keep down the adoration
re-existent now that he was again out of view.

She had replied to Knight's question hastily, and immediately went on to
speak of indifferent subjects. After they had reached home she was apart
from him till dinner-time. When dinner was over, and they were watching
the dusk in the drawing-room, Knight stepped out upon the terrace.
Elfride went after him very decisively, on the spur of a virtuous
intention.

'Mr. Knight, I want to tell you something,' she said, with quiet
firmness.

'And what is it about?' gaily returned her lover. 'Happiness, I hope. Do
not let anything keep you so sad as you seem to have been to-day.'

'I cannot mention the matter until I tell you the whole substance of
it,' she said. 'And that I will do to-morrow. I have been reminded of
it to-day. It is about something I once did, and don't think I ought to
have done.'

This, it must be said, was rather a mild way of referring to a frantic
passion and flight, which, much or little in itself, only accident had
saved from being a scandal in the public eye.

Knight thought the matter some trifle, and said pleasantly:

'Then I am not to hear the dreadful confession now?'

'No, not now. I did not mean to-night,' Elfride responded, with a slight
decline in the firmness of her voice. 'It is not light as you think
it--it troubles me a great deal.' Fearing now the effect of her own
earnestness, she added forcedly, 'Though, perhaps, you may think it
light after all.'

'But you have not said when it is to be?'

'To-morrow morning. Name a time, will