She did not reply. Her heart was too full for words. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, and she laid one hand upon the stone balustrade to steady herself. "Ah, George," she murmured brokenly, "you do not know the fatality that of late has encompassed me, or you would not reproach me. You would pity me." He saw she was trembling. Her eyes were downcast, her chin had fallen upon her breast. "I cannot sympathise with you, or advise you, if you will not tell me the cause of your distress," he said in a kindly tone, grasping her hand. They were in the eastern end of the garden, at a spot but little frequented. "I know you must hate me for having deceived you like this, but truly I could not avoid it. Many, many times have I striven to write to you and tell you the truth, but my words looked so cold, formal and cruel on paper that I always tore up the letter. While you were in ignorance I knew that you still loved me, but now--" "Well, I am still in ignorance," he interrupted. "And I have lost you!" she cried despairingly. "Why? I still love you." "But I must not--I dare not think of love again!" she whispered hoarsely. "From to-day we must part. You must go away and let us both try and forget all that has passed between us. If I have acted cruelly, forgive me. It was because I have been so weak--because I loved you so well." "No," he answered firmly, "I shall not leave you, dearest. I love you still as fondly as in the old days when we strolled together around Stratfield; therefore you shall not send me away like this." "But you must go," she cried. "You must go; I am betrothed." "Betrothed?" The colour died from his face. She hung her head, and her breast rose and fell quickly. "Ah!" she cried, "do not hate me, George. Do not think that I have been false to you. It is not my fault; I swear it is not. A fate, cruel and terrible has overwhelmed me." For a moment he stood rigid as one transfixed. "What is the man's name?" he inquired at last, in a hard, strained tone. She stood silent for several moments, then slowly, without raising her head, answered,-- "Zertho." "His surname, I mean," he demanded. "Prince Zertho d'Auzac," she replied, in a low, faltering voice. He knit his brows. The title was to him sufficient proof that the woman he loved so dearly had forsaken him in order to obtain wealth and position. She would be Princess d'Auzac. It was the way of the world. "And why have you kept the truth from me?" he demanded, in a harsh tone full of reproach. "Because I feared you--because--because I loved you, George," she sobbed. "Love!" he echoed. "Surely you cannot love me if you can prefer another?" "Ah! no," she cried in protestation. "I knew you would misjudge me; you whom I loved so dearly and still love."