My heart told me that Vera was wronged. As the cynical words fell from my lips she gave me a glance confirming that opinion. Standing erect, her features aglow with indignation, her whole frame quivering with excitement, she confronted me like a lioness. "Go!" she exclaimed, with an energy which made me start violently. "Go, for we have both been deceived. I have been deceived, but now my awakening has come. Alas! this is my reward for the dangers braved, the difficulties surmounted, and the crimes committed for your sake!" "Stay, Vera, for Heaven's sake! What crimes?" "Oh, forgive me! What have I said? I think I'm mad. Nay, question me no further, but leave me. Could you but know my heart, Frank, you would have pity--you would know that my love is too great, too all-absorbing, to allow me for an instant to endanger your life unnecessarily. But it is absolutely certain I cannot tell you now, and therefore--" I was conquered. As she paused again, in the midst of her anguish, and her eyes sought mine with an irresistible glance in which love and tenderness, mingled with entreaty, struggled with hope, I knew that all further resistance to the spell on my part was useless, for Vera spoke the truth--and she was all the world to me. So I took her in my arms, and forgave her. "And you will always trust me now, Frank?" she asked presently with happy and tender elation. "Vera," I said, gravely, "I am showing my faith in you, am I not, by asking you to be my wife? I can trust you?" "Trust me!" she cried. "_Mon Dieu_! I have loved only one man; it is you." I bent down to kiss the pale upturned face and her lips met mine in a hot passionate caress, enough to make any man's head reel. "I will endeavour to blot out from my memory this strange deceit you have practised upon me," I exclaimed in a low voice. "I am thankful to you, for I'm so undeserving," she cried, kissing me fondly again and again. "But you must own your vindication has not been very satisfactory," I said, smiling. "Yes, I am aware of that," she replied, seriously. "_Mais, restes tranquille_. I cannot tell you all--at least not yet." "Then for the present I have heard enough to convince me once more of your affection, Vera, and to each other we will be as before. You are still, darling, my betrothed." She did not reply, but flinging her slim white arms around my neck, shed tears of joy. The terrible anxiety as to the result of her pleading, upon which depended her happiness and peace of mind, had proved too great for her, and her pent-up feelings found vent in hysterical emotion. She clung tightly to me as I tried to soothe her, and presently, when she became more calm, she dashed away her tears.