“Listen, you do not understand. It is I he wants—not you; I whom he loves, and who love him, and am about to marry him. You he will send back home.” [Illustration: ] In another moment that steel would have pierced his heart “Loose me,” said Margaret, in such a voice that Betty’s arms fell from her, and she stood there, the dagger still in her hand. “Now,” she said to d’Aguilar, “the truth, and be swift with it. What means this woman?” “She knows best,” answered d’Aguilar uneasily. “It has pleased her to wrap herself in this web of conceits.” “Which it has pleased you to spin, perchance. Speak, girl!” “He made love to me,” gasped Betty; “and I love him. He promised to marry me. He sent me a letter but to-day—here it is,” and she drew it out. “Read,” said Margaret; and Betty read. “So you have betrayed me,” said Margaret, “you, my cousin, whom I have sheltered and cherished.” “No,” cried Betty. “I never thought to betray you; sooner would I have died. I believed that your father was hurt, and that while you were visiting him that man would take me.” “What have you to say?” asked Margaret of d’Aguilar in the same dreadful voice. “You offered your accursed love to me—and to her, and you have snared us both. Man, what have you to say?” “Only this”, he answered, trying to look brave, “that woman is a fool, whose vanity I played on that I might make use of her to keep near to you.” “Do you hear, Betty? do you hear?” cried Margaret with a terrible little laugh; but Betty only groaned as though she were dying. “I love you, and you only,” went on d’Aguilar. “As for your cousin, I will send her ashore. I have committed this sin because I could not help myself. The thought that you were to be married to another man to-morrow drove me mad, and I dared all to take you from his arms, even though you should never come to mine. Did I not swear to you,” he said with an attempt at his old gallantry, “that your image should accompany me to Spain, whither we are sailing now?” And as he spoke the words the ship lurched a little in the wind. Margaret made no answer, only toyed with the dagger blade, and watched him with eyes that glittered more coldly than its steel. “Kill me, if you will, and have done,” he went on in a voice that was desperate with love and shame. “So shall I be rid of all this torment.”