“I hope, miss, I may say without offense that I’m glad my foolish little whispered words didn’t do you no harm, and that you bears no malice, for I’m a different man to what I was in those times. I’m married, miss, to that excellent creetur you see. A little temperish she is, but we’ve all our faults, though I’ve repented mine, and hope I can say I’m a reformed character, thanks to a saving grace!” Florence scarcely heard the end of this hypocritical harangue. The expression he had made use of in the beginning had greatly astonished her; and though she revolted at holding any converse with such a fellow, she could not refrain from asking his meaning. “To whom did you whisper anything concerning me? To Mr. Aylwinne? And what was it?” “Oh, miss,” he answered fawningly, “I hope you’ll let bygones be bygones, for there’s no harm done, nor there wasn’t no harm meant. It was only said because he was inclined to be curious like, and I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t so particular then as I ought to have been; but, thanks to a saving grace, I’m----” What he considered himself the disgusted girl did not stay to hear; but, sweeping past him with a gesture of indignant scorn, she went to the door, and waited there till Mr. Aylwinne came to say the vehicle was ready. “Have you had a glass of wine? No? But you must not go until you have taken something.” He was hurrying into the house, when Florence detained him. “I cannot touch anything in this house. Come away.” One glance at her agitated face, and he flung down a piece of gold to the obsequious landlord, and lifted her into the chaise. Scarcely a word was interchanged during the homeward ride, and Florence’s replies to her aunt’s scolding for wandering so far were brief in the extreme. But, instead of going to her own room, she followed Mr. Aylwinne to a small apartment to which he generally retreated to write letters, etc. He looked surprised, but instantly rose from the chair into which he had thrown himself, and came to meet her. “Sit down again, Frank. I have something to ask you to which I must have a truthful reply. You remember the first time I encountered you at the Albany? Yes, I see you do--and how, when doubtful, I suppose, of my identity, you asked Lieutenant Mason’s servant my name, and he whispered his reply? That whisper contained something more than a simple repetition of my name. Tell me--I entreat, I command you--what it was!” CHAPTER XXII. A TARDY EXPLANATION. While Florence Heriton, her lips quivering, her eyes glittering with excitement, was thus earnestly addressing her lover, Mr. Aylwinne had continued to stand before her, an agitated but attentive listener. But when she ceased speaking, a spasm of pain contracted his features, and, dropping heavily into his chair, he covered his face with his hand.