had none. When he and Miss Blake left
Devonshire, their next change of residence was to this house. Neither
courting nor avoiding notice; simply happy in themselves, in their
children, and in their quiet rural life; unsuspected by the few
neighbors who formed their modest circle of acquaintance to be other
than what they seemed--the truth in their case, as in the cases of many
others, remained undiscovered until accident forced it into the light of
day.

"If, in your close intimacy with them, it seems strange that they
should never have betrayed themselves, let me ask you to consider the
circumstances and you will understand the apparent anomaly. Remember
that they had been living as husband and wife, to all intents and
purposes (except that the marriage-service had not been read over them),
for fifteen years before you came into the house; and bear in mind,
at the same time, that no event occurred to disturb Mr. Vanstone's
happiness in the present, to remind him of the past, or to warn him of
the future, until the announcement of his wife's death reached him, in
that letter from America which you saw placed in his hand. From that day
forth--when a past which _he_ abhorred was forced back to his memory;
when a future which _she_ had never dared to anticipate was placed
within her reach--you will soon perceive, if you have not perceived
already, that they both betrayed themselves, time after time; and that
you r innocence of all suspicion, and their children's innocence of all
suspicion, alone prevented you from discovering the truth.

"The sad story of the past is now as well known to you as to me. I have
had hard words to speak. God knows I have spoken them with true sympathy
for the living, with true tenderness for the memory of the dead."

He paused, turned his face a little away, and rested his head on his
hand, in the quiet, undemonstrative manner which was natural to him.
Thus far, Miss Garth had only interrupted his narrative by an occasional
word or by a mute token of her attention. She made no effort to conceal
her tears; they fell fast and silently over her wasted cheeks, as she
looked up and spoke to him. "I have done you some injury, sir, in my
thoughts," she said, with a noble simplicity. "I know you better now.
Let me ask your forgiveness; let me take your hand."

Those words, and the action which accompanied them, touched him deeply.
He took her hand in silence. She was the first to speak, the first