"Leone, you will drive me mad. Great God, what have I done? I realize it now; I had better have died," and then the strength of the strong man gave way, and he wept like a child. "It is no excuse," he said, "to plead that I was young, foolish, and easily led. Oh, Leone, my only love, what was I doing when I gave you up--when I left you?" The violence of his grief somewhat restrained hers; she was half frightened at it. "We are making matters worse," she said. "Lance, we must not forget that you are married now in earnest." "Will you ever forgive me?" he asked. "I have no excuse to offer. I own that my sin was the most disloyal and the most traitorous a man could commit, but forgive me, Leone. I have repented of it in sackcloth and ashes. Say you forgive me." The beautiful, colorless face did not soften at the words. "I cannot," she said; "I cannot forgive that treachery, Lance; it has wounded me even unto death. How can I forgive it?" "My darling--Leone--say you will pardon me. I will do anything to atone for it." She laid one white hand on his arm. "You see, Lance," she said, earnestly, "it is one of those things for which you can never atone--one that can never be undone--but one which will brand me forever. What am I? Did you stop to think of that when your new love tempted you? What am I? not your wife--not your widow. Oh God, what am I?" He drew her to him again, but this time she resisted his warm kisses. "Leone," he said sadly, "I deserve to be shot. I hate myself--I loathe myself. I cannot imagine how I failed in my duty and loyalty to you. I can only say that I was young and thoughtless--easily led. Heaven help me, I had no mind of my own, but I have suffered so cruelly and so have you, my darling--so have you." "I?" she replied. "When you can count the leaves in the forest, or the sands on the seashore, you will know what I have suffered, not until then." Her voice died away in a melancholy cadence that to him was like the last wailing breath of the summer wind in the trees. CHAPTER XL. "FORGIVE ME, LEONE." "Lance," she said, suddenly, "or, as I ought to say, Lord Chandos--how can I forgive you? What you ask is more than any woman could grant. I cannot pardon the treachery which has ruined my life, which has stricken me, without blame or fault of mine, from the roll of honorable women--which has made me a by-word, a mark for the scorn and contempt of others, a woman to be contemned and despised. Of what use are all the gifts of Heaven to me, with the scarlet brand you have marked on my brow?" He grew white, even to the lips, as the passionate words reached his ears.