ooking straight before her.

"But you must," he protested.

"I--I asked you, Walter, to make me a promise," she said, her voice
broken by emotion--"a promise that, for the sake of the love you bear
for me, you will not believe that man, that you will disregard any
allegation against me."

"And I promise, on one condition, darling--that you tell me in
confidence what I, as your future husband, have a just right to
know--the nature of this secret of yours."

"Ah, no!" she cried, unable longer to restrain her tears, and burying
her pale, beautiful face upon his arm. "I--I was foolish to have spoken
of it," she sobbed brokenly: "I ought to have kept it to myself. It
is--it's the one thing that I can never reveal to you--to you of all
men!"

CHAPTER XVII

DESCRIBES A FRENCHMAN'S VISIT

"Monsieur Goslin, Sir Henry," Hill announced, entering his master's room
one morning a fortnight later, just as the blind man was about to
descend to breakfast. "He's in the library, sir."

"Goslin!" exclaimed the Baronet, in great surprise. "I'll go to him at
once; and Hill, serve breakfast for two in the library, and tell Miss
Gabrielle that I do not wish to be disturbed this morning."

"Very well, Sir Henry;" and the man bowed and went down the broad oak
staircase.

"Goslin here, without any announcement!" exclaimed the Baronet, speaking
to himself. "Something must have happened. I wonder what it can be." He
tugged at his collar to render it more comfortable; and then, with a
groping hand on the broad balustrade, he felt his way down the stairs
and along the corridor to the big library, where a stout, grey-haired
Frenchman came forward to greet him warmly, after carefully closing the
door.

"Ah, _mon cher ami_!" he began; and, speaking in French, he inquired
eagerly after the Baronet's health. He was rather long-faced, with beard
worn short and pointed, and his dark, deep-set eyes and his countenance
showed a fund of good humour. "This visit is quite unexpected,"
exclaimed Sir Henry. "You were not due till the 20th."

"No; but circumstances have arisen which made my journey imperative, so
I left the Gare du Nord at four yesterday afternoon, was at Charing
Cross at eleven, had half-an-hour to catch the Scotch express at King's
Cross, and here I am."

"Oh, my dear Goslin, you always move so quickly! You're simply a marvel
of alertness."

The other smiled, and, with a shrug of the shoulders, said, "I really
don't know w