china or flowers or delicate lacework or sparkling
jewelry--nothing, absolutely nothing, suggestive of a woman's presence
appeared in any part of Mrs. Farnaby's room.

"I have got several things to say to you," she began; "but one thing
must be settled first. Give me your sacred word of honour that you will
not repeat to any mortal creature what I am going to tell you now." She
reclined in her chair, and drew in a mouthful of smoke and puffed it out
again, and waited for his reply.

Young and unsuspicious as he was, this unscrupulous method of taking his
confidence by storm startled Amelius. His natural tact and good sense
told him plainly that Mrs. Farnaby was asking too much.

"Don't be angry with me, ma'am," he said; "I must remind you that you
are going to tell me your secrets, without any wish to intrude on them
on my part--"

She interrupted him there. "What does that matter?" she asked coolly.

Amelius was obstinate; he went on with what he had to say. "I should
like to know," he proceeded, "that I am doing no wrong to anybody,
before I give you my promise?"

"You will be doing a kindness to a miserable creature," she answered,
as quietly as ever; "and you will be doing no wrong to yourself or to
anybody else, if you promise. That is all I can say. Your cigar is out.
Take a light."

Amelius took a light, with the dog-like docility of a man in a state of
blank amazement. She waited, watching him composedly until his cigar was
in working order again.

"Well?" she asked. "Will you promise now?"

Amelius gave her his promise.

"On your sacred word of honour?" she persisted.

Amelius repeated the formula. She reclined in her chair once more.
"I want to speak to you as if I was speaking to an old friend," she
explained. "I suppose I may call you Amelius?"

"Certainly."

"Well, Amelius, I must tell you first that I committed a sin, many long
years ago. I have suffered the punishment; I am suffering it still. Ever
since I was a young woman, I have had a heavy burden of misery on my
heart. I am not reconciled to it, I cannot submit to it, yet. I never
shall be reconciled to it, I never shall submit to it, if I live to be
a hundred. Do you wish me to enter into particulars? or will you have
mercy on me, and be satisfied with what I have told you so far?"

It was not said entreatingly, or tenderly, or humbly: she spoke with
a savage self-contained resignation in her manner and in her voice.
Amelius forgot