“Yes, I promised her,” Nina answered, and suddenly at the thought of all the wasted love and trust she had lavished on Talbot Strangemore a pulse in her heart seemed to snap asunder--her bitter pride seemed to fail her--she broke down before them all, and hiding her face in her hands, sobbed passionately. “Oh, I was too thoughtless, making you talk about those long past things; I am so sorry! Do forgive me dear Mrs. Strangemore,” cried Virgie, full of compunction. Miss Drusilla scowled at the penitent girl. “Let her alone, please, she is not used to being so badgered,” she cried, testily. “Nina, my dear, let me take you to your room until you feel better--or let me call Talbot.” “Not for worlds,” shivered the girl, dashing the tear-drops from her eyes, and turning them full of superb wrath upon Sibyl St. Alban. “Why should you call him to my side to comfort me?” she flashed. “He is not mine, no, not even though God and his mother gave him to me! He belongs to that woman there, who this evening put her arms around him and rested her head on his breast. Do not look at me so strangely, all of you, I know all that you thought was hidden from me! Aunt Drusilla, I heard all that Talbot confided to you, yesterday. I know that Talbot Strangemore is my husband in name only, for this woman here who cast him aside when he was a boy to marry a richer man, has thrown her fetters around him again. She is cruel, heartless, shameless, for she kept him from me all the time while I was waiting for him and loving him so truly. She is false and wicked and I hate her for what she has done--” “Nina, hush, dear!” Miss Drusilla implored. “I will not hush!” the girl raved, madly, “she is a wicked woman, and I pray God to punish her for her sin. I will never forgive her for what she has done by the power of her cruel beauty. I--” She looked up, saw Talbot Strangemore gazing at her in wonder and dismay from the open door-way and with an inarticulate moan of shame, she fell forward senseless and apparently lifeless, at Miss Drusilla’s feet. CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOWS FALL. Sibyl St. Alban uttered a dramatic shriek, and rushed forward to meet her host. “Oh, Talbot, Talbot,” she cried, lifting her humid blue eyes to his face, appealingly, “Your wife has insulted me cruelly! She has been saying the most dreadful things to me. She hates me, she says, and she has called me all sorts of bad names, and----” But he checked the torrent of complaint by putting her firmly aside, while his dark eyes flashed her a look so stern that she quailed beneath it. “Sibyl, I have no time to hear your complaints now,” he said, impatiently. “My wife needs me. I must attend to her.” She threw herself, weeping, upon a silken sofa, and Talbot hastened on to the spot where Nina lay white and motionless, with the veil of her golden hair about her. He was frightened when he saw how white and rigid was the lovely young face.