"Yes," she said again, but never turned her head or heeded Bertie's "Mamma!" "Mamma!" "I love you better than Bertie, Robert," she whispered softly a moment after. He did not reply; but she felt his arm tighten on her hand and press it slightly to his side. She did not return the pressure, she was only half satisfied as she left him and went up the terrace steps, while Robert's eyes followed her wistfully, until even the skirt of her dress swept through the door out of sight. Ah! had she only remained with him a little longer. Robert passed on down the terrace, and stood at the further end. Just then a window was flung open, and Frances Strickland called to his boy. They talked for a few moments, then Hannah passed on with her charge, while Robert still leant against the abutment of the window. Presently it closed gently, a voice saying at the same instant, "Poor Charley! Mrs. Vavasour will break her heart." Robert sprung to his feet and strode past the window at which Frances still stood, his shadow falling upon her darkly as he went on into the house,--into the room. Alone! and ready for a walk? That was well, he would not question her there; no, it must be away, far away, and safe from interruption. "I would speak with you, Miss Strickland," he said sternly, vainly striving to appear calm, and stay the fierce hot blood rushing to his heart and mounting to his brow. Frances followed him at once without a question; away into the Park, along the very road he had so lately traversed with his wife; she could scarcely keep up with his stride, or heavy iron-sounding step, that seemed as though it would crush every stone and pebble in his path to powder: still he went on; on through the trees and walks, startling the birds from the branches, but striking no dismay into Frances' breast; on, even down to the lake slumbering so peacefully and quietly. Here he stopped, and pointing to the clump of a tree, bade her be seated. Then he stood sternly before her. "Can you wonder I wish to speak with you?" he asked in a thick, harsh, almost agitated voice, which grew steadier as he went on. "No," she replied. "Nor why I have brought you thus far?" "No," she said again. "Then speak!" he cried, "and if you speak falsely I will hold you up as a scorn and shame amongst women." "I am not afraid," she said, "and can excuse your harsh words; but--" "I will have no buts," he said sternly, "you have slandered my wife, her I love more than my life; you shall either say you have lied falsely, or you shall make good your words." "Shall I begin at the beginning? Do you want to know all?" "Begin, and make an end quickly." And she did begin, even from the time when Amy had fainted, that memorable night, unto where Charles Linchmore had told her he had met Amy on her wedding day; and as she went on he buried his face in his hands, while his whole frame shook and trembled like an aspen. "Girl, have some mercy!" he cried.