Monica left Mrs. Bellamy’s presence somewhat relieved in mind. She was glad to know the secret of Conrad’s past, the cause of her husband’s disdain and distrust of the man. It was natural, she thought, that Randolph, as a friend of Colonel Hamilton’s, should feel deep indignation at the ingratitude and treachery of the fraud, and yet she felt a sort of relief that it was nothing blacker and baser. She had begun to have an undefined feeling, since she had entered somewhat into the tumultuous life of the great world, that there were depths of folly and sin and crime beneath its smooth, polished surface, of whose very existence she had never dreamed before. When she returned home that day, and said from whose house she had just come, she fancied a shade gathered on her husband’s brow. “Do you not go there rather often, Monica?” “We were friends as children,” she said. “Am I to give up everything that seems connected with the past—with my home?” “I lay no embargo upon you, Monica,” he said; “or at least only one: I cannot permit Sir Conrad Fitzgerald to visit my wife, nor enter my house. If his sister is your friend, and you wish to continue the friendship, I say nothing against it. You shall be the judge whether or not you visit at a house your husband cannot enter, and run the risk of meeting a man whose hand he can never touch. You shall do exactly as you wish in the matter. I leave you entire liberty.” A flush rose slowly in Monica’s face. “I want to do what is right to every one,” she said. “You put things very hardly, Randolph. You only see one side, and even that you view very harshly. I have heard Conrad’s story; it is very painful and shameful; but he has repented—he has indeed, and done all he could to make amends. I have been taught that repentance makes atonement, even in God’s sight. I cannot sit in judgment then, and condemn him utterly.” Randolph looked at her keenly. “Do you know all?” “Yes,” she answered steadily, “I know all. It is very bad; but he has repented.” “I have seen no signs of repentance.” “Have you ever given yourself the chance to do so?” He was still gazing earnestly at her. “Monica,” he said, very gravely, “be advised by me. Do not make yourself Fitzgerald’s champion.” “I do not intend,” she answered, coldly, “but neither will I be his judge.” There was silence for a moment, then Randolph spoke. “We will discuss this question no further. It is a painful one for me. I can never meet that man in friendship; I could wish that you could be content to forget him too; but he is an old friend. You are not connected with the dark passages in his life, and if his repentance is sincere I will not forbid your meeting him or speaking to him, if you find yourself in his company. It goes against me, I confess, Monica. But I do not feel I have the right to say more. If you are acquainted with the story of his life, you are able to form your own estimate of his deserts.”