There was the noise of a chair pushed quickly back, and a heavy tread upon the carpet as she entered, moved, it seemed to be, by some power that was not her own. Then as the door closed behind her she saw that she was right, for, exclaiming loudly, "Marie! my darling!" Glen caught her in his arms. "Captain Glen!" Ruth struggled indignantly from him, and snatched off her veil. He staggered back. "Ruth! you here?" he cried. "Yes. I was compelled to come. Marie--my cousin--Lady Henry--Oh, Captain Glen!" "Is she ill? Has she sent you? Do you know?" he whispered hoarsely. "She has not sent me," cried Ruth. "She does not know I have come. Oh, Captain Glen!" she cried, sobbing violently as she threw herself upon her knees and clasped his feet, "for heaven's sake, spare her! Do not bring down such misery upon that home." "Ruth, my child, hush! for heaven's sake!" "No, no, no, no!" sobbed Ruth, and she went on incoherently as she clung to his feet: "You are not thinking of the horror of your crime. You do not love her--you cannot care for her, or you would not drive her to this terrible sin." "Not love her--Marie? Is she coming?" "I pray heaven, no," said Ruth simply. "I would sooner see her dead." "Then I will go and fetch her," cried Glen, furious with disappointment. "I will not bear it; I cannot bear it. I'll tear her away from him-- but no," he said bitterly, "I promised something else, and I know she will come." "Is this Marcus Glen?" said Ruth simply, as she remained there upon her knees; "is this the man who I told Marie was the soul of truth and honour?" "No; it is the poor deluded, wretched man who has been twice tricked and cozened of his love. It is useless; I cannot, I will not listen to you!" "You shall!" she cried, springing to her feet. "You shall go away from here, for she shall not leave her home for you. I would die sooner than see this shame brought upon her. Coward, to force me, a mere girl, to speak to you as I do! Oh, it is cruel, it is shameful, and yet you talk of love!" "Hush!" he cried, as she stood before him flushed with her indignation; "what do you know of love?" "That there is no such thing, if it is to bring shame and disgrace on a weak woman, and death and dishonour upon a good, confiding man. Oh, where is God, that He does not strike you dead for even thinking such a cruel wrong!--Marie, Marie, you shall not go!" For as she spoke in the anger and bitterness of her heart, the door opened, and, veiled and in a large black cloak, Marie glided in, to shrink cowering away in horror and shame, holding up her hands to keep Ruth off, but in vain, for the girl flung her arms round her, and then turned her head, so as to face Glen. "You here, Ruth!" "Yes, to save you from this shame. Oh, Marie, think of dear Lord Henry!" she cried passionately; "think of the disgrace, the horror and remorse to come!"