“Oh, Harold! this from you to me! I who have loved you so well! Let my love for you be my excuse. I have hated all who have seemed to come between us; first, Lady Elaine, and then poor, confiding Theresa. Since I penned that wretched letter my life has been a torture to me. I have been appalled by the misery that I and Viscount Rivington have already caused you, and yet the gulf between us has but widened. And now I am humiliating myself as woman was never humiliated before. I came back to-day to tell your wife all. I knew that she would forgive me--if she could not forget. I knew that I shall never forgive myself. Do you not believe me, Harold? Do you not see that I have hardly been responsible for my actions? I think that I must have been mad! I have only just realized the hideousness of my folly--of my wickedness. My love for you, and my jealousy of all others who came between us, have blinded me utterly and completely. Pity me, Harold, though I am not deserving of one moment’s consideration from you. Remember the old days--the old days of our childhood--when I deemed that you were all my own. Remember when you petted me, and made me love you! and I never dreamed that any other girl could come between us. I regarded you as my very own! Was it not I who waited in patient expectancy for your return from abroad? Was it not I who gloried in your conquests? And then, when I believed that I was about to taste the sweets of life, the bowl was ruthlessly snatched from my lips. God and myself alone know the bitterness of my trial! I hated all who stood between you and me. I hated Lady Elaine Seabright--I hated the gentle-hearted Theresa; but I have been mad--mad! But at last I have wakened, and it shall be my duty to make atonement!” Her anguish was terrible to see, but he said, sternly: “If my innocent Theresa is not restored to me I will never forgive you, Margaret Nugent. I will never look upon your hateful face again! There is no pity in my heart for you--there never will be. Go, and find Theresa!” She rose to her feet, her face wet with tears, and turning, silently left him. No punishment could equal the anguish that had pierced her heart. The man whom she had sinned for spurned and hated her! “I will find Theresa,” she whispered to herself; “and I pray to God that I may not be too late, or I shall live hereafter marked with the brand of Cain!” She did not seek advice anywhere, but went straight to Euston station. She asked for a ticket to Tenterden, but was informed that no further trains stopped there that day. Her only hope of reaching Tenterden was to book to Crayford, and return to Tenterden by a local train. Even by doing this she ran great chances. If the London train was not in exactly to time at Crayford the last local would have left. “Then I must trust to chance,” Margaret thought. “In any event I have to go to Ashbourne to-night, and that is only one station beyond Crayford.”