“I will put it away again, if you please.” He let her do so, and removed the case. When he drew near her, Isabel regarded him with a passionless face, and pointed to the chair he had risen from. “He knew me well,” she said, with a bitterness which made all her words clear-cut and her voice unshaken. “He calculated my weakness, and devised my punishment skilfully. That I should take the child and rear it to inherit his property, or else lose everything at once. With a woman of self-respect, such a scheme would have been empty; she would have turned away in scorn. But he knew me well; he knew I had not the courage to go back to poverty; that I would rather suffer through years, be the talk and pity and contempt of every one, face at last the confession to her,--all that rather than be poor again!” Kingcote once more held her hand, and, when she paused, he kissed it passionately. “You were poor once?” he asked gently, tenderly. “That is my only excuse. We were wretchedly poor, my mother, my brother, and myself. I have been hungry often and often. We had to keep up a respectable appearance; we starved ourselves to buy clothing and to avoid being indebted to people. I have often gone to bed--when I was a strong, growing girl--and cried because I was so hungry; though I had just before been pretending I could eat no more, as we all of us did, poor mother as well. I was to be a governess; but then a lady took me to London, was wonderfully kind to me, treated me as her daughter. She said”--Isabel half laughed, half cried--“she said I was too good-looking to be a governess.” “Wasn’t it true? Are you not now so beautiful that my heart faints when I look at you?” “If I were not so contemptible--if I deserved any recompense for what I have suffered--it would be a priceless one to hear you say so.” “Tell me more.” “I married at the end of my first season; made what was called a wonderful marriage. I hadn’t a farthing, and became all at once wealthy. I caught at the best that offered; the best in the world’s sense. I was old enough; I understood what I was doing. No one was to blame but myself. You saw that hard, strong, coarse face? He often looked at me as if he were coldly calculating the risks of murder; but as he got to know me better, he found better punishments. I did not disobey him. I never gave him cause for anger by word or deed; could I help it that I--that I hated him?” The excitement was again overpowering her strength. She sobbed tearlessly. “You shall speak no more of that,” King-cote said; “leave it all in the past; forget it, dearest.” “Am I dearest to you?” she asked, looking into his eyes with yearning tenderness. “Oh, I have never felt till now what it would be to lose wealth and the power of bestowing it!