"Forgive me for asking your friend to give you this note--I only did it because I feared in writing to you to refer to what happened. Is it asking too much, Bertha, to beg you not to resent it? Not to hate me for to-night? Think of my shame and misery about it--to think I had pressed and begged you to come to be insulted in my house. You see now what I have tried to conceal. I am utterly miserable. My wife is terrible and impossible. Seeing you occasionally had been my one joy--my only consolation. And only to-night--before--you had been telling me not to come and see you any more. Now I feel our friendship is all over. I could not expect you to see me again. You are such an angel, that you will, if I ask you, I believe, try to wipe out from your memory this horrible evening! I would rather have died than it should have happened. Of course, you see now that by instinct Mary guessed right--I mean in knowing my feeling for you--though heaven knows I haven't deserved this. She's screaming for me, and I must stop. All I ask is, don't hate me! I'm so miserable when I think that you, beautiful angel as you are, might have belonged to me. I doubt if I shall be able to live this life much longer. "In humblest apology, and with that deep feeling that writing can never express, your idolising "NIGEL. "_P.S._--I ought not to have written that. But I fear so much that I may not see you again, and that this may be my last letter, and I feel I would like you to know honestly all I feel for you. But words may not bear such burdens. Send me one word, only one word of pardon." Bertha was obviously shocked and surprised at this letter. She folded it up, looking grave. Then she said to Madeline: "What a very extraordinary thing it has been that both Mary and Percy have been suspicious and jealous of Nigel and myself, while there's been absolutely nothing in it!" "But they both felt by instinct, perhaps, that that was no fault of his," returned Madeline. "I have no sympathy with him," said Bertha, who seemed for her quite hard. "If he does like me, all the more he ought to have kept away. Besides, it's only because he wants to be amused! What right has he to make his wife unhappy, when he deliberately chose her, and to be willing--if he is willing--to smash up my happiness with Percy?" "Of course that's horrid of him," said Madeline; "but somehow I do think his wife is rather awful; I think she might do anything. But won't you answer his letter?" "Yes; I think I'd better write him a line," said Bertha. She sat down and wrote: "DEAR MR. HILLIER,--Pray don't think again of the unpleasant little incident. "I have already forgotten it. "I think that if you will make your children the interest of your life--though it's very impertinent of me to say so--happiness must come of it. "Good-bye. Yours very sincerely,