"No," cried Rachel, with almost fierce energy; "I _must_ finish. I cannot leave _you_ ignorant of my true story." She paused again, and then went on quickly, in a low tone: "I don't think I was exactly popular--certainly not with the men employed in the same house. I was thought cold and hard, and to me they were all utterly uninteresting. One or two of the girls I liked, and they were fond of me." Another pause. Then she pushed on again: "One evening I went out with another girl and her brother--at least she said he was her brother--to see the illuminations for the Queen's birthday. In Pall Mall we got into a crowd caused by a quarrel between two drunken men. I was separated from my companions, and one of the crowd, also tipsy, reeled against me. I should have been knocked down but for a gentleman who caught me; he had just come down the steps from one of the clubs. I thanked him. He kindly helped me to find my companions. He came on with us almost to the door of Madame Celine's house. He talked frankly and pleasantly. Two days after I was going to the City on madame's business. He met me. He said he had watched for me. There! I cannot go into details. We met repeatedly. For the first time in my life I was sought, and, as I believed, warmly loved. I knew the unspeakable gulf that opened for me, but I loved him. At last there was light and color in my poverty-stricken existence." She stopped, and a glow came into her sad eyes. "I was bewildered, distracted, between the passion of my heart and the resistance of my reason. I ceased to be the efficient assistant I had been. I was rebuked, and looked upon coldly. Six months after I had met _him_ first, I gave madame warning. I said I was going into the country. So I was, but not alone. No one asked me any questions; no one had a right. I belonged to no one, was responsible to no one, could wound no one. I was quite alone, and, oh, so hungry for a little love and joy!" She paused, and then resumed rapidly, "I was that man's unwedded wife for nearly two years." She rested her arm on the table, and hid her face with her hand. Katherine listened with unspeakable emotion. The eloquent blood flushed cheek and throat with a keen sense of shame. She had read and heard of such painful stories, but to be face to face with a creature who had crossed the Rubicon, overpassed the great gulf, which separates the sheep from the goats was something so unexpected, so terrible, that she could not restrain a passionate burst of tears. "Ah," she murmured at last, "you were cruelly deceived, no doubt. You are too hard upon yourself. You----"