I said nothing, I was feasting my eyes upon her as she sat opposite; as the starving beggar looks with eager gaze upon the shop windows, filled with dainties, so I feasted my soul upon her and watched the light come and go upon her lovely face. She was more beautiful if possible, than when I had seen her last. There was an air of maturity, of the ripened fruit, that she had wanted in the days gone by. She was dressed for some ball or rout, in a clinging gown of shimmering pale blue stuff that set off her marvelous beauty to perfection. Around her white throat was clasped a sparkling necklace of diamonds, and the low cut of her gown revealed the soft beauty of her lovely neck. She looked as though she were a creature of some other world--too fair to be one of Mother Earth's daughters. "Art dumb," she said, "that thou dost sit silent and gaze at me as though I were a ghost? Thou wert better company in the old days," and she looked up at me archly. "In truth, my lady," I answered, "I did but marvel at thy wondrous beauty and----" Up she arose in an instant. "Did I not say that at the first hint of this I would go?" she cried. "I am as good as my word," and she would have gone. "Margaret!" I cried in dismay, "I most humbly crave thy pardon. I did not mean to offend again." "I do not trust thee," she answered with a frown. "Remember, sir, I shall not say a word, but at the first intimation of this again--out I go. Thou art changed," she said, and she hesitated. "Thou meanest older, Margaret," I replied. "Yes, older--much older. I have been through much since thou didst see me last, and my sufferings have, I believe, made me a better man." "I am glad," she said softly, tears in her eyes. "Margaret," I said, "didst thou learn who was responsible for my captivity?" "How long has it been Margaret?" she cried impatiently, tapping her little foot. "'Twas not Margaret when I saw thee last, and though I would not be hard upon thee, still I have overlooked it several times," and she looked up at me imperiously. "I crave thy pardon," I said, coloring to my ears, for I had not been conscious until she spoke that I had called her by her given name. In my joy at seeing her again I had forgotten all else. "I did but call thee, in the confusion of the moment, as I had thought of thee so often. Habit, thou knowest, Lady Margaret, becomes a part of one," and I looked boldly at her. The imperious look faded from her face; she met my admiring gaze, and dropping her eyes, she hid them behind her long lashes, and a deep blush mounted her cheeks. "I see thou hast lost none of thy old boldness," she murmured, "and still art as persistent to gain thy point as ever." "What I am about to say may seem strange to thee," I said--"incredible. But I have always told the truth to thee--have I not?" "Yes," she answered gravely, raising her eyes, "I believe whatever thou mayest say." "It was Dunraven who kidnaped me," I answered quietly.