At these words, spoken with that power Ina Klosking could always command, Zoe Vizard turned ashy pale. But she fought on bravely. “Married? It is false! To whom?” “To me.” “I thought so. Now I know it is not true. He left you months before we ever knew him.” “Look at him. He does not say it is false.” Zoe turned on Severne, and at his face her own heart quaked. “Are you married to this lady?” she asked; and her eyes, dilated to their full size, searched his every feature. “Not that I know of,” said he, impudently. “Is that the serious answer you expected, Miss Vizard?” said Ina, keenly: then to Severne, “You are unwise to insult the woman on whom, from this day, you must depend for bread. Miss Vizard, to you I speak, and not to this shameless man. For your mother's sake, do me justice. I have loved him dearly; but now I abhor him. Would I could break the tie that binds us and give him to you, or to any lady who would have him! But I cannot. And shall I hold my tongue, and let you be ruined and dishonored? I am an older woman than you, and bound by gratitude to all your house. Dear lady, I have taxed my strength to save you. I feel that strength waning. Pray read this paper, and consent to save _yourself.”_ “I will read it,” said Rhoda Gale, interfering. “I know German. It is an authorized duplicate certifying the marriage of Edward Severne, of Willingham, in Huntingdonshire, England, to Ina Ferris, daughter of Walter Ferris and Eva Klosking, of Zutzig, in Denmark. The marriage was solemnized at Berlin, and here are the signatures of several witnesses: Eva Klosking; Fraulein Graafe; Zug, the Capellmeister; Vicomte Meurice, French _attache';_ Count Hompesch, Bavarian plenipotentiary; Herr Formes.” Ina explained, in a voice that was now feeble, “I was a public character; my marriage was public: not like the clandestine union which is all he dared offer to this well-born lady.” “The Bavarian and French ministers are both in London,” said Vizard, eagerly. “We can easily learn if these signatures are forged, like _your_ acceptances.” But, if one shadow of doubt remained, Severne now removed it; he uttered a scream of agony, and fled as if the demons of remorse and despair were spurring him with red-hot rowels. “There, you little idiot!” roared Vizard; “does that open you eyes?” “Oh, Mr. Vizard,” said Ina, reproachfully, “for pity's sake, think only of her youth, and what she has to suffer. I can do no more for her: I feel--so--faint.”