"I had heard so, to my very great regret." "But you cannot be aware of what is really the fact--that you are to a great extent implicated in her departure." "I? Mr. Streightley----" "Hear me out. Our good friend here thinks I am in the wrong in entering into this story to you." "I don't see the necessity for it," growled Charley Yeldham. "Very likely not; but then you have not carried the weight about in your bosom for months, or you would hail such a chance of relief with delight. A chance indeed; but I have often contemplated seeking you, and telling you what you are now about to learn. I am fortunate indeed in an opportunity offered by your kindness." He was speaking clearly and steadily now; so he spoke until the end. "Mr. Frere, I owe you an explanation of my last remark to you, and I'm proceeding to give it; but you will have to pardon my feebleness and give me time. You were acquainted with Miss Guyon long before I was introduced to her?" "I was." "And--I am speaking to you frankly of yourself; you will see how frankly I shall speak of myself presently--and you admired her very much?" "I thought--I think," said Frere, after an instant's hesitation, "that there never was a more beautiful woman." "Nor a more heartless one, I suppose you would add. That woman, as you imagine, fooled you to the top of your heart, gave you every encouragement to seek her hand; and when you did so, frankly and honourably, deliberately threw you over for the richer prize which came in her way." "Mr. Streightley," said Frere, in an earnest voice, "I'm sure you must have some very strong motive, or you would never touch upon a subject which must be so painful to both of us." "I have a strong motive, sir, as you will speedily find. Your calls were unnoticed, your letters disregarded, your honourable and manly offer rejected, almost with contempt. Shortly afterwards Miss Guyon was married to me. Now, Mr. Frere, I am coming to my point. Katharine Guyon's rejection of you and her acceptance of me were alike the result of a base conspiracy against you and her. In matters concerning you she was hoodwinked and deceived; your visits were not mentioned to her; your letters were kept back from her. The very offer of your hand she never received, and until the day of her father's death she was in ignorance of its having been made." Gordon Frere had started back at the beginning of this disclosure, and now sat staring wildly, scarcely able to comprehend what he had heard. After a pause, he said, "Good God, how awful! And by whom was this treachery perpetrated?" "By two men, one of whom has gone to his account, with all his imperfections on his head; while the other, mercifully spared so far to repent and make such atonement as lies in his power, is before you."