She often wondered in after years that she had not died in that moment. But the pride and self-control of long years came to her aid; she rose, pale as marble, cold, dignified, ready to die rather than yield to emotion; and without one word, she held out her hand in greeting to her husband. He was looking at her with eyes that seemed to devour her. "Estelle," he murmured; then, ready, eloquent, debonair as he was, he could say no more. Was it possible--gracious Heaven!--was it possible that this pale, proud, beautiful woman, so haughty that she looked as though nothing could touch her--was it possible that she was the fair young Estelle who had sacrificed everything for him, and been so cruelly rewarded? Was this magnificent woman really his wife? "Estelle," he repeated. He drew nearer, as though he would caress her. She shrunk from him. "No," she said, "do not touch me." But the earl, so handsome and debonair, was not to be daunted. "Why, Estelle, my darling, my wife, surely you are going to forgive me--I shall never forgive myself. No man ever did behave so vilely, I believe; but, my darling, you will forgive me, and let us be happy now." "After twenty years!" she answered--"after twenty long, sad years." "Better late than never, my love. You must forgive me, Estelle. I did you a most cruel wrong, but the most cruel of all was to quarrel with you and leave you." "No," she said, firmly, "the most cruel wrong you did was to marry me; and the next, to leave me all these years without one word. No woman could ever forgive such a wrong." "But you are not a woman, you are an angel, Estelle--so it has always seemed to me. Will you believe me in this one instance--I am full of faults; I have behaved shamefully; my conduct to you disgraces the name I bear, the name of a gentleman--but will you believe this, Estelle, my wife, my silence during all those years has not been because I would not write, but because I dare not? I never dreamed that you could forgive me; I held myself unworthy of all pardon. I knew that I had wronged you so greatly, I deserved no compassion." "If you felt so sure that I could never forgive you, why do you come here now?" she asked, haughtily. The least possible gleam of amusement came into his eyes, the least possible curl to his lip. "You see, my darling Estelle, it is in this way: As Ulric Studleigh it mattered little what became of me--whether I went to the bad altogether or not, whether I was married or not; but as Earl of Linleigh it is quite another thing. I must have a wife to reign in my ancestral home; I must have children to succeed me; therefore, from the depth of my heart, I say forgive the fault of erring, passionate youth, and be my wife in reality as you are in name. I promise you, Estelle, I will atone to you for the evil I have done; that I will make you happy beyond the power of words to tell; that I will spend my life in your service. Do you believe me?"