her face. She breathed freely.

"You believe this," she said at last, "and yet you are here. If you have
evidence against Frank Lamotte, why do you occupy a felon's cell? Why
not put him in your place?"

"I have told you why. It was for your sake."

She lowered her eyes and drew back a little, but he followed her, and,
standing before her, looked down into her face with a persistent,
searching gaze. "You must understand me now," he said firmly, "when I
believed that you loved Frank Lamotte, I said 'Then I will not stand
forth and accuse the man she loves, for--I love her, and she must not be
unhappy.'"

A great sob rose in her throat. A wave of crimson swept over her brow.
She stood before him with clasped hands and drooping head.

"But for that meddlesome slip of paper," he went on, "I should not have
been driven from the field, and this treachery of Lamotte's could never
have been practiced upon me. Do you remember a certain day when you sent
for Ray Vandyck, and he came to you from my office? Well, on that day
Francis Lamotte told me that you were his promised wife, and when Ray
came back, _he_ verified the statement, having received the information
from your lips. Once I hoped to come to you and say, after lifting for
your eyes the veil of mystery, which I have allowed to envelope my past:
'Constance Wardour, I love you; I want you for my very own, my wife!'
Now, mountains have arisen between us; I can not offer you a hand with
the shadow of a stain upon it; nor a name that is tarnished by doubt and
suspicion. However this affair may end for me, that hope is ended now."

[Illustration: "That hope is ended now."]

It had come; the decisive moment.

She could go away now with sealed lips, and it would end indeed. She
could turn away from him, leaving happiness behind her; taking with her
his happiness, too; or, she could speak, and then--

She looked about her; and the bare walls and grated windows gave her
strength to dare much. Had they stood together out under the broad
bright sunlight; he as free as herself, she could have turned away
mutely, and let her life go on as it would.

Now--now his present was overshadowed; his future difficult to read.

"_Is_ it ended?" she said, softly. Then, looking up with sudden,
charming imperiousness. "You end things very selfishly, very coolly,
Doctor Heath. I do not choose to have it ended."

"Miss Wardour!--Constance!"

"Wait; you say that your lawyers told of my