“Let me recall the past,” returned Stuart, letting his hands drop to his sides, while he moved nearer to her. “On the day we plighted our troth, the words I spoke, Margery, were from my heart, not lightly meant or lightly given, but solemn and serious; while yours----” “While mine,” she cried, raising her head proudly, “live as truly in my heart now as they did on that day! Ah, what have I said?” She moved to a chair, and, flinging herself into it, buried her face in her hands, while he stood as he was, hardly realizing what it was that caused the sudden glow within his breast, the unspeakable happiness that possessed him. In a moment, however, Margery rose; pride had come to her aid. She looked at him steadily, her two small hands clasped. “You have accused me of deceit,” she said, “spoken words insulting to a true woman; but it is what I should have expected from the man who trampled on a girl’s heart, her life, as you did on mine. Ah, how wrongly I judged you! I thought you a hero, a king; you proved yourself mean, dishonorable, despicable!” She drew a quick breath, then went on, not noticing that his face had grown as pale as her own. “I was only a village girl, a plaything of the hour, sufficient to amuse you when you were dull, a toy to be tossed aside when I had given you all the amusement you wanted. It was nothing to you what might come to me--I served your purpose. In my foolish ignorance I gave you all my heart; I let you see how deeply I loved you; and, in return, you went back to your cousin, your equal, and laughed at my foolish weakness as a good joke. You to talk of deceit, of lies--you, who offered me such insults, sending me money through her--money, Stuart, when my heart was breaking!” She paused, her hands pressed close to her heart, which beat most painfully. Stuart moved nearer to her; he put one hand on her arm. “Insults--money!” he echoed, in a hard, quiet voice between his clinched teeth. “What do you mean?” “What do I mean? I mean the humiliation you offered me when you sent that cruel, beautiful woman, your cousin, to me, with cold, insulting words and an offer of money as a cure for all I might suffer!” Stuart’s hold tightened on her arm. “Vane offered you insults--money!” he said, incredulously. “Yes,” replied Margery. Then, as he turned away with a groan, she added, hurriedly: “You did not send her, Stuart?” “Send her? Great Heavens! you ask me that?” The girl drew back, frightened by the agony in his voice, and he moved to the fireplace, leaning one arm on it for support, with his face turned from her. “Tell me what happened,” he said, after a brief pause.