“Mrs. St. Alban,” she exclaimed, haughtily, “Why this unwelcome intrusion?” The great blue eyes lifted to Nina’s flashing dark ones, filled with quick tears. “Oh, do not speak to me so harshly, so coldly,” implored Sibyl. “You cannot guess what I suffer, Mrs. Strangemore, or you would forgive me for seeking your presence thus by stealth, to exculpate myself in your eyes from all the cruel aspersions you cast upon me to-night. Oh, you beautiful, fortunate child, you have wronged me bitterly. You cannot in justice refuse to hear my defense!” They stood looking at each other, the unloved wife and the triumphant rival, in silence a moment after Sibyl’s artful appeal, then Nina answered, slowly: “What defense can you make? I saw you myself with your head upon my husband’s breast.” “But it was his fault not mine,” said Sibyl, quickly, “Oh, Nina, my child, you must listen to me while I confess all! You took Talbot from me five years ago! We were engaged to be married and your mother thrust that unwelcome marriage upon him and ruined both our lives. Out of pique I married another, but I never loved him, for my heart was broken by Talbot’s loss. When Mr. St. Alban died and left me a rich widow two years ago I went to Europe. I--I met Talbot in London. He was about to go home to you, dear Nina.” A sob, and the tiny lace handkerchief fluttered up to her wet eyes with a waft of perfume. Nina stood before her cold, pale, statue-like, listening in silence. “Indeed, indeed, it was not my fault that he lingered and lingered, putting off his return from day to day,” sighed Sibyl. “I will not deny that I loved him still, but I would not have kept him from his wife, oh, no, no, no! But, poor fellow, he was mad for love of me, and I could not drive him away. Oh, you cold-hearted child, do not look at me so scornfully. We loved each other so dearly, and we had been so cruelly parted, was it any wonder that we liked to be together, or that Talbot raved against the child his mother had forced him to marry for the sake of sordid money?” She saw the beautiful face before her grow crimson with shame and anger, and laughed within herself. “Ah, that was a trump card,” she thought, cruelly, and she continued in her soft, sad, regretful tones: “Ah, we were perfectly wild with joy in these first days of my freedom. We dreamed happy, impossible dreams of freedom for Talbot, too--freedom that should give him back to me as in the days before he forged those fetters he hated so madly!” The flush of shame on the lovely face before her grew deeper. A low moan of pain escaped Nina’s lips. “Oh, how cruel you are! Why do you tell me these dreadful things?--me, his wife?” she exclaimed, reproachfully.