f turned toward the door, listened for the step of her whom
I had never so much loved as at that moment, possibly because I had only
just come to understand the cause of her seeming vacillations. My
instincts were so imperative, my duty and the obligations of my position
so unmistakable, that I made a move as Gilbertine reached this point,
which caused her first to hesitate, then to stop. How should I fill up
this gap of silence? How tell her of the great, the grievous mistake she
had made? The task was one to try the courage of stouter souls than
mine. But the thought of Dorothy nerved me; perhaps also my real
friendship and commiseration for Sinclair.

"Gilbertine," I began, "I will make no pretence of misunderstanding you.
The situation is too serious, the honour which you do me too great;
only, I am not free to accept that honour. The words which I uttered
were meant for your cousin Dorothy. I expected to find her in this room.
I have long loved your cousin--in secrecy, I own, but honestly and with
every hope of some day making her my wife. I--I----"

There was no need for me to finish. The warm hand turning to ice in my
clasp, the wide-open blind-struck eyes, the recoil, the maiden flush
rising, deepening, covering cheek and chin and forehead, then fading out
again till the whole face was white as marble and seemingly as
cold--told me that the blow had gone home, and that Gilbertine Murray,
the unequalled beauty, the petted darling of a society ready to
recognise every charm she possessed save her ardent nature and great
heart, had reached the height of her many miseries, and that it was I
who had placed her there.

Overcome with pity, but conscious also of a profound respect, I
endeavoured to utter some futile words, which she at once put an end to
by an appealing gesture.

"You can say nothing," she began. "I have made an awful mistake, the
worst a woman can make, I think." Then, with long pauses, as though her
tongue were clogged by shame--perhaps by some deeper if less apparent
feeling: "You love Dorothy. Does Dorothy love you?"

My answer was an honest one.

"I have dared to hope so, despite the little opportunity she has given
me to express my feelings. She has always held me back, and that very
decidedly, or my devotion would have been apparent to everybody."

"Oh, Dorothy!"

Regret, sorrow, infinite tenderness, all were audible in that cry.
Indeed, it seemed as if for the moment her thoughts were m