“Yes,” he answered, with a look of pain; “I know it all—how she suffered when you did not come to her—how anxious she grew when she discovered that her honor must be vindicated, and you did not even write to her in answer to her heart-rending appeals—how she determined that she would be acknowledged as your lawful wife, and sought you in London one dismal night, and begged you, with all the eloquence which she could command, to right the wrong you had done her. Had you consented, she resolved to tell you then and there of the brilliant future awaiting you. But you spurned her from you instead—you turned coldly from her and her almost idolatrous love, mocking her misery, and telling her that the woman you married must be endowed with wealth and position—if she could assure you of these, you would consent to make her an honorable wife; but you would not marry her to save her from the shame that you had brought upon her. Then it was that she learned your utter heartlessness—that you cared for nothing or for no one but yourself and the things that would serve to gratify your selfish ambition. She would not be an _unloved_ wife, and she knew that when you should discover the greatness you had missed you would be rightly punished; and so, in her pride, she turned from you in silence regarding her prospects, vowing that she would not wed you then if it would save both your lives; she resolved to bear her shame alone, knowing that the day was not far distant when you would be willing to sacrifice much to undo that wrong—when you would curse yourself for your folly. I judge from your words to-day that that time did come—that you suffered keenly when you discovered that the trap you had set for your victim had also sprung on yourself. As I said before, you are the man for whom I have been searching for the last seven years—that was the business upon which I went that night when this house was robbed, and returning became entangled in the affair. I thought I had gained a clew to the whereabouts of a George Sumner, and I meant, if I found you, to brand you the traitor and the coward that you are——” “Softly—softly, young man,” interrupted Sumner Dalton, a white light gleaming from his eyes. “I suppose you mean by that that you would like to pommel me within an inch of my life; but this is a country which does not permit such things—there are penalties for such indiscretions as those, and as you have already served one term for the benefit of the State, I hardly think you would enjoy another.” Oh, how the heart of Earle Wayne rebelled against this insult! But he knew that retribution did not always fall upon the offender in the form of blows, and he answered, with quiet scorn: “You mistake, sir. I would not degrade myself enough to lay even a finger upon you.” This shot told; Earle could see by the twitching of the muscles about his mouth, and the sudden clenching of his hands, and he replied, with malevolent spite: