But she did suppress it, with a power, a resolution, not often paralleled among men--still more seldom among women. After the first spasmodic acknowledgment given by her surprise, she listened with comparative calmness. She, alone, had the key to that conversation. She, alone, knew its terrible signification. She knew that Ned Hinkley was honest--was to be believed--that he was too simple, and too sincere, for any such invention; and, sitting with hands clasped upon that chair--the only attitude which expressed the intense emotion which she felt--she gazed with unembarrassed eye upon the face of the speaker, while every word which he spoke went like some keen, death-giving instrument into her heart. The whole dreadful history of the villany of Stevens, her irreparable ruin--was now clearly intelligible. The mocking devil at her elbow had spoken nothing but the truth. She was indeed the poor victim of a crafty villain. In the day of her strength and glory she had fallen--fallen, fallen, fallen! “Why am I called to hear this?” she demanded with singular composure. The old man and the mother explained in the same breath--that she might reveal the degree of intercourse which had taken place between them, and, if possible, account for the absence of her lover. That, in short, she might refute the malice of enemies and establish the falsehood of their suggestions. “You wish to know if I believe this story of Ned Hinkley?” “Even so, my daughter.” “Then, I do!” “Ha! what is it you say, Margaret?” “The truth.” “What?” demanded the preacher, “you can not surely mean that Brother Stevens hath been a wolf in sheep's clothing--that he hath been a hypocrite.” “Alas!” thought Margaret Cooper--“have I not been my own worst enemy--did I not know him to be this from the first?” Her secret reflection remained, however, unspoken. She answered the demand of John Cross without a moment's hesitation. “I believe that Alfred Stevens is all that he is charged to be--a hypocrite--a wolf in sheep's clothing!--I see no reason to doubt the story of Ned Hinkley. He is an honest youth.” The old lady was in consternation. The preacher aghast and confounded. “Tell me, Margaret,” said the former, “hath he not engaged himself to you? Did he not promise--is he not sworn to be your husband?” “I have already given you my belief. I see no reason to say anything more. What more do you need? Is he not gone--fled--has he not failed--” She paused abruptly, while a purple flush went over her face. She rose to retire. “Margaret!” exclaimed the mother. “My daughter!” said John Cross. “Speak out what you know--tell us all--”