his defense that Florence, for the first time, feels a
strong doubt thrown upon the belief she has formed of his being a
monster of fickleness.

"What is it I can do for you?" asks Dora, in some confusion. Of late she
has grown very shy of being alone with either him or Florence.

"You will tell Miss Delmaine," replies Adrian quickly, "that I never
wrote you a letter, and that I certainly did not--you will forgive my
even mentioning this extraordinary supposition, I hope, Mrs.
Talbot--kiss your hand one day in September in the lime-walk."

Dora turns first hot and then cold, first crimson and then deadly pale.
So it is all out now, and she is on her trial. She feels like the
veriest criminal brought to the bar of justice. Shall she promptly deny
everything, or--No. She has had enough of deceit and intrigue. Whatever
it costs her, she will now be brave and true, and confess all.

"I do tell her so," she says, in a low tone, but yet firmly. "I never
received a letter from you, and you never kissed my hand."

"Dora!" cries Florence. "What are you saying! Have you forgotten all
that is past?"

"Spare me!" entreats Dora hoarsely. "In an hour, if you will come to my
room, I will explain all, and you can then spurn me, and put me outside
the pale of your friendship if you will, and as I well deserve. But, for
the present, accept my assurance that no love passages ever occurred
between me and Sir Adrian, and that I am fully persuaded his heart has
been given to you alone ever since your first meeting."

"Florence, you believe her?" questions Sir Adrian beseechingly. "It is
all true what she has said. I love you devotedly. If you will not marry
me, no other woman shall ever be my wife. My beloved, take pity on me!"

"Trust in him, give yourself freely to him without fear," urges Dora,
with a sob. "He is altogether worthy of you." So saying, she escapes
from the room, and goes up the stairs to her own apartment weeping
bitterly.

"Is there any hope for me?" asks Sir Adrian of Florence when they are
again alone. "Darling, answer me, do, you--can you love me?"

"I have loved you always--always," replies Florence in a broken voice.
"But I thought--I feared--oh, how much I have suffered!"

"Never mind that now," rejoins Sir Adrian very tenderly. He has placed
his arm round her, and her head is resting in happy contentment upon his
breast. "For the future, my dearest, you shall know neither fear nor
suffering if I can prev