She started, and I thought her face grew paler. "Impossible!" she cried, her eyes wide open with astonishment. "I stand too near death's door to lie to thee now, Margaret," I said, "did I wish to." "Forgive me," she answered quickly. "I was astonished, though I never doubted what thou didst say. But Lord Dunraven--what motive could he have for so black a deed?" "Margaret!" I cried, "look at me." She raised her eyes to mine bravely, but the tell-tale color was in her cheeks. "And thou dost ask me that?" I cried. "Thou knowest as well as I why Dunraven did this." She did not reply, but bent her head over the table, so that I could not see her face. "To-morrow," I said, "will end my career, and I----" She interrupted me eagerly. "Thou wilt not die to-morrow; thy friends will save thee." "My friends can do nothing," I replied slowly. "I am beyond man's help now. I would ask thee one question and only one. Wilt answer me?" "I will try," she replied, without raising her bent head. One little hand lay on the table near me, and I had hard work to keep myself from striding forward and closing my own over it. "I would not wish thee to marry one unworthy of thee," I said. "Thou art too sweet and beautiful to be tied to such a man as this; he would be a blight upon thy young life, that would grow and deepen as the years go by. Such a soul as thine should be mated with one congenial, a man that thou couldst love and trust." No answer; only silence, the beautiful head bent low over the table. She looked so young and helpless, as I looked at her, that my great love surged over all barriers, and swept everything before it, as the angry ocean beats down its puny bulwarks and breaks upon the land. "I have a story to tell thee," I said, in a low voice--"one that I have treasured long." "No!" she cried, lifting her head, and I could see her wet eyes and the tear stains upon her cheeks. "Spare me now--it is useless," she said hurriedly. "I know it is, Margaret," I said sadly. "But it is because it is so useless that I wish thee to know it, it can harm no one. To-morrow I will have passed from thy life forever; will be as last summer's flowers faded and gone, and yet I wish thee to know of what thou hast been to me. How when I was tempted sorely, and ready to yield, thy pure, sweet face would rise before me, and I, strengthened, would overcome the temptation. How often in the watches of the night, when all was quiet, with none but the silent stars to keep me company, I would think of thee, glad that the same sky hung over both, that we breathed the same air, and that the same sun shone above us. Wilt thou not hear me?" "How can I help myself," she moaned, "if thou wilt force me to hear thee. But I warn thee beforehand that it is useless."