"You are a remarkably free-spoken young lady, Miss Darrell--you have quite an oratorical flow of words. It is fortunate that Lady Darrell knows you, or she might be tempted to believe you. Elinor, I rest my claim on this--since you have known Miss Darrell, have you ever received one act of kindness from her, one kind word even?" Lady Darrell was obliged to answer: "No." "Then I leave it," he said, "to your sense of justice which of us you are to believe now--her who, to anger you, swears to my guilt, or me, who swears to my innocence? Elinor, my love, you cannot doubt me." Pauline saw her eyes soften with unutterable tenderness--he saw a faint flush rise on the fair face. Almost involuntarily Lady Darrell drew near to him. "I cannot bear to doubt you, Aubrey," she said. "Oh, speak the truth to me, for my love's sake!" "I do speak the truth. Come with me; leave Miss Darrell for a while. Walk with me across the lawn, and I will tell you what respect for Miss Darrell prevents my saying here." Lady Darrell turned to Pauline. "I must hear what he has to say--it is only just." "I will wait for you," she replied. The captain was always attentive; he went out into the hall and returned with a shawl that he found there. "You cannot go out with those beautiful arms uncovered, Elinor," he said, gently. He placed the shawl around her, trying to hide the coward, trembling fear. "As though I did not love you," he said, reproachfully. "Show me another woman only half so fair." Pauline made one more effort. "Lady Darrell," she cried, with outstretched hands, "you will not decide hastily--you will take time to judge?" But as they passed out together, something in the delicate face told her that her love for Aubrey Langton was the strongest element in her nature. "Lady Darrell," she cried again, "do not listen to him! I swear I have told you the truth--Heaven will judge between him and me if I have not!" "You must have studied tragedy at the Porte St. Martin," said Aubrey Langton, with a forced laugh; "Lady Darrell knows which to believe." She watched them walk across the lawn, Captain Langton pleading earnestly, Lady Darrell's face softening as she listened. "I am too late!" cried the girl, in an agony of self-reproach. "All my humiliation is in vain; she will believe him and not me. I cannot save her now, but one word spoken in time might have done so." Oh, the bitterness of the self-reproach that tortured her--the anguish of knowing that she could have prevented Lady Darrell's wrecking her whole life, yet had not done so! It was no wonder that she buried her face in her hands, weeping and praying as she had never wept and prayed in her life before. * * * * * "Elinor, look at me," said Captain Langton; "do I look like a thief and a would-be murderer?" Out of Pauline's presence the handsome face had regained its usual careless, debonair expression.