Margery buried her face in her hands. She was silent for a few seconds, and then she looked up. “I am a wife, Stuart,” she replied, slowly drawing her breath as if in pain; “at the side of a deathbed I took upon me the most solemn and sacred vows. My husband is good; the depths of his nobility and generosity you could never fathom. To speak such words would be dishonorable, would be a sin. I can say no more.” Stuart’s head fell forward on his breast; the soft, sad tones touched his manliness to the core. “Forgive me!” he said, huskily. “You are right--we must part; I will leave Court Manor as soon as possible.” “It will be best.” The words fell almost coldly from her lips; her eyes were closed in pain, her face was pale and drawn. She paused an instant, then moved slowly from the fire, from the proximity of the man bowed down by his despair. She seemed almost overwhelmed by the magnitude of this new sorrow; but, though she looked so frail and delicate, she possessed unusual courage. Her pride and honor supported her in this worst of all her troubles. The future, with its bitterness, stood before her; she had to face life-- “If that may be called life From which each charm of life has fled-- Happiness gone with hope and love In all but breath already dead.” And brave the struggle she would, though it broke her heart. At the door she turned. The sight of Stuart’s grief struck her painfully; she held out her hand, urged by an uncontrollable impulse. “Stuart!” she said, faintly. He was beside her in an instant. “If you value what I say,” she whispered, as he clasped her hand, “you will be brave. Do not speak of your life as ended. We both have duties. We have been tried; but Heaven has been very good, for the clouds of doubt and suspicion that hung over our hearts have been dispelled. To know the truth is happiness and comfort--let us be grateful and not murmur. Now, good-by.” Their eyes met, and he bent his head till his lips touched her small, cold, trembling hand. “I will remember, cousin,” he responded; “good-by.” The curtain was moved aside, then fell back again to its place, and Stuart Crosbie was alone. “Then came the bitter hours, and broke Thy heart from mine away, And tearfully the words we spoke We were so loath to say. Farewell, farewell, world so fair! Farewell, joy of soul! “Farewell. We shall not meet again As we are parting now; I must my beating heart restrain, Must veil my burning brow. Oh, those are tears of bitterness Wrung from the beating heart, When two, blest in their tenderness, Must learn to live apart!” * * * * *