"No--on my soul, no!" he cried. "I could never doubt it--I----" He came to a sudden stop as his eyes fell upon the hand that lay at her breast. She saw the earnest gaze, but did not remove her hand. "That ring, Florence!" "My wedding ring, Dick," she said, and pressed her lips upon it. "You are married!" "I am married, dear." "To Mr. Reginald?" "Yes; but that is not the name I bear." He covered his face with his hands. He had long known that she was lost to him, but only at this moment did he fully realise it. And not alone that. He was overwhelmed by the thought of the damning evidence in his pocket, a virtual accusation of murder made by the murdered man himself against his son, against Florence's husband! An ashen face confronted her as he took his hands from his eyes. "Dick!" she cried. "It is nothing, dear, nothing." His eyes wandered around the room. "You are not living here alone?" "No, Dick. My husband is in that room. Come and see him. Tread softly, softly!" She opened the door, and he followed her into the room, and there, in bed, lay the son of Samuel Boyd, the man lying dead in his house in Catchpole Square. "The doctor has given him a sleeping draught," said Florence, in a low tone. "He has been very ill, and no one to nurse him but I." With tender care she smoothed the pillow, and drew the counterpane over his shoulders, then stooped and kissed him. When she raised her face it was illumined. Love shone there, and a divine pity. There are memories which dwell in the mind till the hour of death, and this revelation of devoted love would dwell in Dick's mind till his life was ended. "Is he changed much?" she asked. "He is worn and thin," Dick replied. "Has he been ill long?" "A good many days, but thank God! the doctor says he will get well. If he sleeps till eight or nine o'clock it will help his recovery greatly." They re-entered the sitting room. Dick took a chair with its back to the light, and each looked at the other in silence awhile. Florence was the first to speak. "Where shall I commence, Dick?" "At the beginning," he replied. "Hide nothing from me if you are sure you can trust me." "I _am_ sure. There is no shame in an honest love, dear." "None, Florence.