d every word Wilford had said, and with a gasping
cry Marian wound her arms around her neck, exclaiming:

"And you will love me, not because he did once, but because I have
suffered so much? You will let me call you Katy when we are alone? It
brings you nearer to me."

Marian was now the weaker of the two, and it was Katy's task to comfort
her, as, sinking back in her chair, she sobbed:

"He did love me once. He acknowledged it at the last, before them all,
his wife, his father and his sister. Do they know?" she suddenly asked,
and when assured that they did, she relapsed into a silent mood, while
Katy stole quietly out and left her there alone.

Half an hour later a female form passed hurriedly through the hall and
across the threshold into the chamber where the dead man lay. There was
no one with him now, and Marian was free to weep out the pent-up sorrow
of her life, which she did with choking sobs and passionate words poured
into the ear deaf now to every human sound. A step upon the floor
startled her, and turning around she stood face to face with Wilford's
father, who was regarding her with a look which she mistook for one of
reproof and displeasure that she should be there thus.

"Forgive me," she said, wringing her hands together. "I know how you
despise me, but he was my husband once, and surely now that he is dead
you will not begrudge me a few last moments with him for the sake of the
days when he loved me."

There were many tender chords in the heart of Father Cameron, and
offering Marian his hand, he said:

"Far be it from me to refuse you this privilege. I pity you, Genevra,
for I believe he dealt unjustly by you--but I will not censure him now
that he is gone. He was my only boy. Oh, Wilford, Wilford. You have left
me very lonely."

He released her hand, and Marian fled away, meeting next with Bell, who
felt that she must speak to her, but was puzzled what to say. Bell could
not define her feelings toward Marian, or why she shrank from
approaching her. It was not pride, but rather a feeling of prejudice, as
if Marian were in some way to blame for all the trouble which had come
to them, while her peculiar position as the divorced wife of her brother
made it the more embarrassing. But she could not resist the mute
pleading of the eyes lifted so tearfully to her, as if asking for
a nod of recognition, and stopping before her she said, softly:

"Genevra."

That was all, but it made Genevra's tear