"Yes. When Sir Geoffrey saw Diana she seemed to fascinate him--he refused to give up my letters--said he could not part with them. In this way he tortured me for weeks until at last he wrote from Raydon Manor, saying I should have the letters if I would call for them in person, but it must be at ten o'clock at night--and Diana must go with me. So we went--there were other men there--they had been drinking. When we entered the room, Captain Danby locked the door--I nearly swooned with horror--" "Ah, my God!" exclaimed Anthony. "But then--O Peregrine--before any one could move or prevent--Diana sprang upon Sir Geoffrey--I saw the flash of steel, and he lay back helpless in his chair, staring up at her--not daring to move, her dagger pricking his throat--yes--I saw the blood! 'Sir Geoffrey,' said she in an awful, whispering voice, 'give up the letters and order them to open the door, or I will surely kill you'--and I saw him flinch as the dagger bit deeper. But he laughed and obeyed her, and so with the letters in my hand, Diana led me out of the room and none offered to hinder us. We had been admitted at the door that gave into the wood and we had just opened it when some one among the trees groaned, and afraid of being seen, we locked the door and ran back to the house and asked Sir Geoffrey for a carriage. And then--Captain Danby hurried into the room, saying you and Anthony were outside--in the hall. Then we fled into Sir Geoffrey's study and--I think that is all?" "Yes!" said I dully. "That is all!" "And enough for one lifetime!" added Anthony. "No more secrets, Loveliness!" "Never any more, dear Anthony, though it was all for you that I suffered, and Diana--my dear, dear Diana--kept silence and allowed you to think--to--" "God forgive me!" I groaned. "I wasn't worth it, Babs!" exclaimed Anthony, kissing her; and then his hand was upon my shoulder. "What now, old fellow?" "O Anthony, was there ever such a blind fool? Was ever angel of God so cruelly misjudged? My noble Diana!" Hardly knowing what I did, I turned and began to stumble along beside the brook, conscious only of my most bitter remorse. And then a hand clasped mine, and turning to the touch of these warm, vital fingers, "Diana," said I, "O Diana--" "You know--at last, Peregrine?" "I know that I dared to think you unworthy--doubted your sweet purity--called you--wanton. And I--miserable fool--in my prideful folly dreamed that in marrying you--mine was the sacrifice! Oh, I am not fit to live--Diana--O Diana, can you forgive me?--All my life I have been a failure!" "Dear love, hush--oh, hush!" she sighed in weeping voice. But in the extremity of my self-abasement, I knelt to kiss her hands, the hem of her dress, her slender, pretty feet. "Peregrine dear, your--your mistake was very natural; you saw me--at Raydon Manor--" "I should have disbelieved my eyes!"