“Had I no reason?” he asked. “None that you did not cause yourself; your unfounded jealousy, your determination to humble me, drove me to the step I took.” The expression of his countenance somewhat changed; he had averted his face so that she could not read its meaning, and over it passed no sign of relenting, but a look more wholly triumphant than it had yet worn. When he turned to Lady Alice it was changed to one of mildness and sorrow. “You will drive me mad, Alice,” he uttered, in a low, deep voice. “May heaven forgive me if I have mistaken you; you told me you loved me.” “I told you the truth,” she rejoined, quickly. “But how soon that love changed,” he said, in a half-doubting tone, as if willing to be convinced. “It never changed!” she replied, vehemently. “You doubted—you were jealous, and left me. I never ceased to love you.” “You do not love me now?” he asked. She was silent; but a low sob sounded through the room, and Charles Mardyn was again at her feet; and, while the marriage-vows had scarce died from her lips, Lady Alice Daventry was exchanging forgiveness with, and listening to protestations of love from the son of the man to whom, a few hours before, she had sworn a wife’s fidelity. It is a scene which needs some explanation; best heard, however, from Mardyn’s lips. A step was heard along the passage, and Mardyn, passing through a side-door, repaired to Clara’s apartment. He found her engaged on a book. Laying it down, she bestowed on him a look of inquiry as he entered. “I want to speak to you, Clara,” he said. Fixing her cold gray eyes on his face, she awaited his questions. “Has not this sudden step of Sir John’s surprised you?” “It has,” she said, quietly. “Your prospects are not so sure as they were?” “No, they are changed,” she said, in the same quiet tone, and impassive countenance. “And you feel no great love to your new stepmother?” “I have only seen Lady Alice once,” she replied, fidgeting on her seat. “Well, you will see her oftener now,” he observed. “I hope she will make the Hall pleasant to you.” “You have some motive in this conversation,” said Clara, calmly. “You may trust me, I do not love Lady Alice sufficiently to betray you.” And now her voice had a tone of bitterness surpassing Mardyn’s; he looked steadily at her; she met and returned his gaze, and that interchange of looks seemed to satisfy both, Mardyn at once began: