"Yes, but you would hate me if you knew the truth," she whispered hoarsely. "Therefore I cannot tell you." "Your secret cannot be of such a nature as to cause that, Liane," he said quietly. "It is. Even if I told you everything your help would not avail me. Indeed, it would only bring to me greater pain and unhappiness," she answered quickly. "Our days of bliss have passed and gone, and with them all hope has vanished. They were full of a perfect, peaceful happiness, because you loved me with the whole strength of your soul, and I idolised you in return. Hour by hour the remembrance of those never-to-be-forgotten hours spent by your side comes back to me. I remember how quiet and peaceful the English village seemed after the noise, rattle and incessant chatter of a gay Continental town, how from the first moment we met, I, already world-weary, commenced a new life. But it is all past--all gone, and I have now only before me a world of bitterness and despair." And she turned her pale face from his to hide the tears which welled in her eyes. "You say you were world-weary," he observed in a low tone. "I do not wonder at it now that I know of your past." "My past!" she gasped quickly. "What do you know of my past?" "I know that your father was a gambler," he answered. "Ah! what a life of worry and privation yours must have been, dearest. Yet you told me nothing of it!" She looked at him, but her gaze wavered beneath his. "I told you nothing because I feared that you would not choose the daughter of an adventurer for a wife," she faltered. "It would have made no difference," he assured her. "I loved you." "Yes," she sighed; "but there is a natural prejudice against women who have lived in the undesirable set that I have." "Quite so," he admitted. "Nevertheless, knowing how pure and noble you are, dearest, this fact does not trouble me in the least. I am still ready, nay, anxious, to make you my wife." She shook her head gravely. Her hand holding her sunshade trembled as she retraced the semicircle in the dust. "No," she exclaimed at last. "If you would be generous, George, leave me and return to London. In future I must bear my burden myself; therefore, it is best that I should begin now. To remain here is useless, for each time I see you only increases my sadness; each time we meet brings back to me all the memories I am striving so hard to forget." "But I cannot leave you, Liane," he declared decisively. "You shall not throw yourself helplessly into the hands of this unscrupulous man without my making some effort to save you." "It is beyond your power--entirely beyond your power," she cried, dejectedly. "I would rather kill myself than marry him; yet I am compelled to obey his will, for if I took my life in order to escape, others must bear the penalty which I feared to face. No, if you love me you will depart, and leave me to bear my sorrow alone."