It was so horrible. She had loved Marcus Glen with all the strong passion of her nature. For his sake she would have borne poverty and privation, and been truly happy, believing thoroughly in his love; but when, in place of finding him the true, honest gentleman she had trusted, she believed that he was base, her love had turned to hatred, and she had fled, telling herself that she had nothing to hope for now, and that if she could make others happy she need expect no more. Awakening at last, after a night of bitter suffering, to the anguish of her husband, she had made a brave effort over self, and turned to him as her refuge from the suffering to which she was reduced. She clung to him, praying for help and strength to cast out the image of Marcus Glen from her heart and at last she felt that she had the strength, and told herself that she would consider the past as dead. But even as she lay there with her husband's hands pressed to her forehead, the thought would come that she ought to tell Marcus Glen that she knew the truth. A paroxysm of agony followed this thought. What avail would it be now? She felt that he would curse her for her want of faith in him, and, think of it all as she would, she could only come to the conclusion that, in her haste and want of trust in him she loved, she had blasted her future, and must bear it to the end. Daybreak at last; and with the sun came thoughts of her position, and the necessity for making some effort--an effort which she was now too weak to essay. But at last she rose, and as the time wore on begged Lord Henry to leave her, meeting him again a couple of hours later at breakfast, apparently calm, but with a tempest raging in her breast. He uttered no word of reproach, but was tenderness itself, and the tears stole more than once down his furrowed cheeks; and when at last he appealed to her as her husband, she broke down, threw herself sobbing upon his breast, and begged him to spare her. "I will not say another word," he replied gently. "My wish is to make you happy in my poor way, and I only pressed you for your confidence, so that I might help you to be more at rest." "I don't like to have secrets from you," she whispered; "dear husband!" He held her more tightly to his breast as she called him this, and she uttered a low sigh of relief, for it was as though he told her of his trust. It gave her strength to proceed, and she went on: "My sister quarrelled with me, and said such bitter things that I could not bear them. She brought up the scene upon that terrible night of which you were a witness." "Let it be buried with the past," said Lord Henry gravely. "It should never have been revived, and I see now but too plainly that I was to blame in accepting the invitation." "Never accept one again; I could not bear it. Clotilde's path and mine must be separate through life. I could not meet her now." "Are you not too hard upon your sister?"