riven against herself, and against him, till her last effort
at resistance was exhausted. In reckless despair she let the truth
escape her at last.

"When do I ever think of anything else! I am a wretch unworthy of all
the kindness that has been shown to me. I don't deserve your interest; I
don't even deserve your pity. Send me away--be hard on me--be brutal
to me. Have some mercy on a miserable creature whose life is one long
hopeless effort to forget you!" Her voice, her look, maddened him. He
drew her to his bosom; he held her in his arms; she struggled vainly to
get away from him. "Oh," she murmured, "how cruel you are! Remember,
my dear one, remember how young I am, how weak I am. Oh, Herbert, I'm
dying--dying--dying!" Her voice grew fainter and fainter; her head sank
on his breast. He lifted her face to him with whispered words of love.
He kissed her again and again.

The curtains over the library entrance moved noiselessly when they were
parted. The footsteps of Catherine Linley were inaudible as she passed
through, and entered the room.

She stood still for a moment in silent horror.

Not a sound warned them when she advanced. After hesitating for a
moment, she raised her hand toward her husband, as if to tell him of her
presence by a touch; drew it back, suddenly recoiling from her own first
intention; and touched Sydney instead.

Then, and then only, they knew what had happened.

Face to face, those three persons--with every tie that had once united
them snapped asunder in an instant--looked at each other. The man owed
a duty to the lost creature whose weakness had appealed to his mercy in
vain. The man broke the silence.

"Catherine--"

With immeasurable contempt looking brightly out of her steady eyes, his
wife stopped him.

"Not a word!"

He refused to be silent. "It is I," he said; "I only who am to blame."

"Spare yourself the trouble of making excuses," she answered; "they
are needless. Herbert Linley, the woman who was once your wife despises
you."

Her eyes turned from him and rested on Sydney Westerfield.

"I have a last word to say to _you_. Look at me, if you can."

Sydney lifted her head. She looked vacantly at the outraged woman before
her, as if she saw a woman in a dream.

With the same terrible self-possession which she had preserved from
the first--standing between her husband and her governess--Mrs. Linley
spoke.

"Miss Westerfield, you have saved my child's life." She