ed to be the
rector's wife, hiding her face in his bosom, and telling him brokenly
how unworthy she was, how foolish and how unsuited to the place, but
promising to do the best she could do not to bring him into disgrace
on account of her shortcomings.

"With the acknowledgment that you love me, I can do anything," she
said, and her white hand crept slowly into the cold, clammy one which
lay so listlessly in Arthur's lap.

He was already repenting, for he felt that it was sin to take that
warm, trusting, loving heart in exchange for the half-lifeless one he
should render in return, the heart where scarcely a pulse of joy was
beating, even though he held his promised wife, and she as fair and
beautiful as ever promised wife could be.

"I can make her happy, and I will," he thought, pressing the warm
fingers which quivered to his touch.

But he did not kiss her again. He could not, for the brown eyes which
still seemed looking at him as if asking what he did. There was a
strange spell about those phantom eyes, and they made him say to Lucy,
who was now sitting demurely at his side:

"I could not clear my conscience if I did not confess that you are not
the first woman whom I have asked to be my wife."

There was a sudden start, and Lucy's face was as pale as ashes, while
her hand went quickly to her side, where the heart beats were so
visible, warning Arthur to be careful how he startled her, so when she
asked:

"Who was it, and why did you not marry her? Did you love her very
much?" he answered indifferently:

"I would rather not tell you who it was, as that might be a breach of
confidence. She did not care to be my wife, and so that dream was over
and I was left for you."

He did not say how much he loved her, but Lucy forgot the omission and
asked:

"Was she young and pretty?"

"Young and pretty both, but not as beautiful as you," Arthur replied,
his fingers softly parting back the golden curls from the face looking
so trustingly into his.

And in that he answered truly. He had seen no face as beautiful of
its kind as Lucy's was, and he was glad that he could tell her so. He
knew how it would please her, and partly make amends for the tender
words which he could not speak for the phantom eyes haunting him so
strangely. And Lucy, who took all things for granted, was more than
content, only she wondered that he did not kiss her again, and wished
she knew the girl who had come so near being in her place.