Maude looked at him as she had never looked at him before. Wonder, indignation, disgust--all mingled in the expression of her countenance. He had woven his network to ensnare a frivolous shallow-hearted girl, and behold, on the completion of the schemer’s web, a woman arose in the strength of her truth and purity, and shook herself free from the toils as easily as if they had been so much gossamer. “There is something due from me to you?” she asked, haughtily. “What is it?” “The fulfilment of your broken promise. I have waited, Maude, and waited patiently. Another man would have revenged himself on your inconstancy by proving to you that he too could be inconstant. Hopeless but patient, I have given you a disinterested devotion which is without a parallel in the history of man’s sacrifice for the woman of his choice. Now that you are free, I ask some atonement for the past, some reward for my patience. Tell me that the past is not quite forgotten--that the tender protestations which consoled me in my miserable exile were not utterly meaningless and false. Why do you look at me like that? Have I been the dupe of a coquette from first to last, Mrs. Tredethlyn, and does your husband’s death only leave you free to jilt me again? Have I been fooled to the top of my bent by a woman who has never loved me?” “No, Mr. Lowther,” Maude answered, very quietly; “I did love you once. I look back now, and wonder at myself as I remember how dearly. But my love died--a very sudden death.” “When you discovered the advantages of a wealthy marriage for the penniless daughter of a commercial defaulter,” cried Harcourt.