elief, hope,
despair, in his face, which had grown older by years with the passing of
the seconds.

"It's a lie, Mary," he said. "Say it's a lie!" He seized her hand
passionately.

There was no quiver in her voice as she answered. She drew her hand from
his clasp, and spoke evenly.

"It's the truth."

"It's the truth!" the young man repeated, incredulously.

"It is the truth," Mary said, firmly. "I have served three years in
prison."

There was a silence of a minute that was like years. It was the father
who broke it, and now his voice was become tremulous.

"I wanted to save you, Dick. That's why I came."

The son interrupted him violently.

"There's a mistake--there must be."

It was Demarest who gave an official touch to the tragedy of the moment.

"There's no mistake," he said. There was authority in his statement.

"There is, I tell you!" Dick cried, horrified by this conspiracy of
defamation. He turned his tortured face to his bride of a day.

"Mary," he said huskily, "there is a mistake."

Something in her face appalled him. He was voiceless for a few terrible
instants. Then he spoke again, more beseechingly.

"Say there's a mistake."

Mary preserved her poise. Yes--she must not forget! This was the hour of
her triumph. What mattered it that the honey of it was as ashes in her
mouth? She spoke with a simplicity that admitted no denial.

"It's all quite true."

The man who had so loved her, so trusted her, was overwhelmed by the
revelation. He stood trembling for a moment, tottered, almost it seemed
would have fallen, but presently steadied himself and sank supinely into
a chair, where he sat in impotent suffering.

The father looked at Mary with a reproach that was pathetic.

"See," he said, and his heavy voice was for once thin with passion, "see
what you've done to my boy!"

Mary had held her eyes on Dick. There had been in her gaze a conflict of
emotions, strong and baffling. Now, however, when the father spoke,
her face grew more composed, and her eyes met his coldly. Her voice was
level and vaguely dangerous as she answered his accusation.

"What is that compared to what you have done to me?"

Gilder stared at her in honest amazement. He had no suspicion as to the
tragedy that lay between him and her.

"What have I done to you?" he questioned, uncomprehending.

Mary moved forward, passing beyond the desk, and continued her advance
toward him until the two stood close together,