decision, "you will have nothing more to do
with this Gervase Henshaw, or he with you."

It was good to see the eager relief in Edith Morriston's eyes.

"And you never told me this before," she said.

"I could not very well," he replied. "And I should not have told you now
had I not been forced to protect you from this man. It is a dangerous
position for me to stand in, and I should in ordinary circumstances have
let the affair remain a mystery."

"I understand your position," she responded, with a look of gratitude.
"But you can trust me."

"Indeed I can," he assured her with infinite content.

"I don't realize it now," the girl said, with signs that she was fighting
against the effect of the reaction. "Can you trust me enough to tell me
how it all happened?"

"I would trust you with my life," he responded fervently. "Though it
hardly comes to that. Of course I will tell you the whole story of my
adventure. But we had better not stay here. Mr. Henshaw must be getting
impatient by this time and may come to look for you. Before he has the
chance of meeting you it will be well for you to hear the real facts of
the case. Shall we come into the park, or would your brother--"

"Dick is at church," she said, a little shamefacedly, it seemed. "I gave
him the slip."

"What a terrible risk you have just run," Gifford observed as they went
through the churchyard to the private gate into the park. "If I had not
happened to come along just then and see Henshaw waiting--"

"Oh, don't talk of that now," she entreated. "I knew it meant horrible
misery for the rest of my life, but anything seemed better than the
terrible scandal which threatened us."

"With which Henshaw threatened you, the scoundrel," Gifford corrected.
"Now you shall see how little he really had to go upon."

"And yet," she murmured, "it seemed overwhelming. I can scarcely believe
even now that the danger is past."

"Wait till you hear my story," he said with a reassuring smile.

They had entered the enclosed path, called Church Walk, and passing the
branch which led to the drive, kept on between the tall laurel hedges.

"We shall be quite undisturbed here," the girl said. "Dick is sure to
turn off and go in by the drive. Now, Mr. Gifford, do trust me and tell
me everything."

"I hope it is not necessary to talk of trust between us," he replied,
with as much tenderness as his chivalry permitted.

"No; forgive me; I hope not," she responded quietl