“Because I dare not know it; I must not know it,” he exclaimed impetuously. “Love cannot be for me.” The blow had fallen; the pain was worse than he had anticipated. How could he tell the woman who believed in him that he had deceived her; that he had stolen her love under false pretences? He looked up and saw the tender love-light in her eyes. She reminded him of a child waiting to be fondled and petted; she evidently had not taken in the meaning of his words. Rising, he paced the room--as was his custom when disturbed--and because of his agitation, his manner seemed almost harsh. “Marjorie!” She looked up eagerly, but her heart sank as she noted the expression on his face. “Marjorie, I’m a cad and a scoundrel. I am going to hurt you: it ought to have been done long ago, then it wouldn’t have been so bad. When Stannard congratulated us like that, my first impulse was to accept his congratulations for us both. Then I remembered I couldn’t, because--I’m not free. Nearly twelve years ago, when I was just twenty-one, I was married, and, though I know not where she is, my wife still lives.” “Married!” She uttered an exclamation of astonished dismay, and caught hold of the table to steady herself. Herbert thought she was going to faint, for every vestige of colour left her face; but she did not. Instead, she threw herself on to the couch and covered her face with her hands. Married. _Married!_ Oh, if he had met his death on the night of the fire she could have borne it better than this! He half expected her to overwhelm him with reproaches; but she was one of those sweet-natured women who will kiss the hand that strikes them down. He was her hero, and she loved him, and nothing that he had done could alter that fact. But her face, when she turned it towards him, was a greater reproach than any words could have been. All the brightness, the vivacity, seemed to have been suddenly crushed out of it; she had grown years older in a moment of time. “Will you tell me all about it?” she said presently, in a voice quite unlike her own. “I am sorry to have to rake up what I presume is a--a painful subject, but I think I--ought to know.”