safety."

"Mother, mother, will you now hear my story, my confession?" said Salome,
earnestly.

"My child, I would rather you would defer it until you are better able to
talk."

"Mother, mother, I have the strength of fever on me now; but my mind is
growing confused. Let me speak while I may!"

"Speak on, then, my dear child, but don't exhaust yourself."

"Mother, though I have failed, through very shame of broken promises, to
write to you lately, yet you must have heard from other sources of my
father's tragic death?"

"I heard of it, my child. And I have daily remembered his soul in my
prayers."

"And you heard, good mother, of how I forgot all my promises to devote
myself to a religious life, and how I betrothed myself to the Marquis of
Arondelle, who is now the Duke of Hereward?"

"You yielded to the expressed wishes of your father, my child, as it was
natural you should do."

"I yielded to the inordinate and sinful affections of my own heart, and I
have been punished for it."

"My poor child!"

"Listen, mother! Yesterday morning, at St. George's church, Hanover
Square, in London, I was married by the Bishop of London to the Duke of
Hereward. Yesterday afternoon I received secret but unquestionable proof
that the duke was an already married man when he met me first, and that
his wife was living in London!"

"Holy saints, Mademoiselle! What is this that you are telling me?"
exclaimed the astonished abbess. "Surely, surely she is growing delirious
with fever," she muttered to herself.

"I am telling you a terrible truth, my mother! Listen, and I will tell
you everything, even as I know it myself!" said Salome, earnestly.

The abbess no longer opposed her speaking, although it was evident that
her illness was hourly increasing.

And Salome told the terrible story of her sorrows, commencing with the
first appointed wedding-day at Castle Lone, and ending with the second
wedding-day at Elmhurst House, and her own secret flight from her false
bridegroom, just as it is known to our readers.

The deeply shocked abbess heard and believed, and frequently crossed
herself during the recital.

As Salome proceeded with what she called her confession, her fever and
excitement increased rapidly. Toward the end of her recital her thoughts
grew confused and wandered into the ravings of a brain fever.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE BRIDEGROOM.

According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Herewar