"You are true and noble; you are of the kind whom women torture and kill. Tell me, have you no idea where she is?" "I have not the faintest," he replied, "I cannot tell even in what quarter of the world she is; but I have confidence in my own will--I shall find her." "Suppose," said the lady, "that you succeed, that you find her, and that she is unwilling to marry you--what shall you do then?" His face darkened--a new expression such as she had never seen came over it. "That is between Heaven and myself," he replied. "Until I am tried and tempted I cannot tell you what I should do." "You would not harm her!" she cried, laying her hand on his arm. "Harm her! hurt Doris! Oh, no! how could I harm her? She is life of my life, heart of my heart! How could I harm her?" "That is well. I am weak and easily frightened; I have lived for nearly twenty years in one long dream of terror. I was a girl of eighteen when my fear began--I am a woman of thirty-eight now, and I have never known one moment's cessation of fear. Do you pity me?" "With all my heart," said Earle. "After twenty years," she continued, "I stand face to face with the realization of my fear; the dream that has haunted me has come true; the sword has fallen; I have to answer for my girlish folly and sin--a thousand times greater than Doris'!" Then between them for some minutes there fell perfect, unbroken silence. Again the lady broke it. "I am in sore need," she said, "and I want a friend. I have sought you because you love Doris." Wondering more and more, he answered that he would do anything on earth to help her. "I feel sure you would," she said; then throwing back her veil, she asked: "Do you know me?" He looked at her. No, he did not know her. He thought to himself that he could never have forgotten such a face if he had seen it before. "I am Lady Estelle Hereford," she continued, "the only daughter of the Duke of Downsbury." He was not surprised; he would not have felt surprised if she had told him she was Queen of England. "Lady Estelle Hereford," he murmured; "but what is it possible that I can do to help you?" "You wonder that I, the daughter of a mighty duke, should be driven to seek aid," she said. "Oh! believe me, there is no one in all England who needs it more than I do. Tell me, Earle Moray--'gentleman and poet'--I like the title--tell me, have you ever heard me discussed--spoken of?" "Yes," he replied, frankly, "many times." "Tell me how people speak of me!" she asked. "I know what your answer will be. It will not pain me." "I have always heard your beauty praised," said Earle, honestly--"that you were accomplished and beautiful, but that you were one of the proudest ladies in the land." "It is true," she said; "the time was when no girl in England was prouder than I." He looked at the pale, high-bred face. "It was natural," he said, simply; "you had everything to make you so."