"Ay," she said, "I am unused to my own voice in its present tone. I am risking much for you, and you do not deserve that I should risk anything for you." "Marion," he cried, half-rising, "you have not left him? You have not resolved to throw your fate in with mine at last? Marion, my darling! Marion, let me come to you." "Stay where you are," she said, in a tone of perplexity, and with a shudder. "If you move from that chair, it must only be for the door. Remember this once for all." "You are very hard, Marion--very hard. It is a long day since we met, and now you will not even give me your hand. You would give your hand to the most ordinary friend you have: think of what we were once." His voice had a firm, manly, straightforward ring in it, and withal an undertone of passionate entreaty. "I have thought too much of what has been once. I have thought too much of what was between you and me long ago. I have another matter to think of to-night." "And what is that, Marion?" "I have to think of last night." He uttered a cry of surprise and half rose from his chair. "Did you know I was there? I thought you were asleep. He said you were. Did he tell you I was there?" She paused a moment and made a powerful effort to control herself. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady, and showed that a violent conflict was going on in her breast. "He told me nothing," she said. "I have sent for you in order that you may tell me all. Now go on. All, remember." "All?" he asked. "I would rather not tell you all. I never told you a lie yet." "All," she said--"all, or go." He shifted uneasily for a few minutes on his chair, and then spoke: "Well, Marion, since you will have it all, you shall. I am no better than ever I was. I leave it to you to say if I could, being only human, be much worse. You might have made a different man of me once. You wouldn't. Let that pass." "Yes, let that pass, and let it pass quickly. I did not sell you for a sum of money." Her voice was scornful. "No, you did not. You did better. You sold yourself for a sum of money. Shall we cry truce?" "Yes; go on." "I've been a good deal on the Continent. I've been doing a great many things I should not do. Amongst others, I have been gambling; and, worst of all, I have lost. There are many excuses for a man gambling. There is no excuse for a man losing. Well, I got cleaned out, and I came home--I mean I went back to Ireland. "Naturally I faced south. Naturally I went on to Waterford. Naturally I found myself in Kilcash." She made a gesture of dissent. But it was too dark for him to see. She said: "Most unwise and most unnatural." "It may have been unwise, but it was most natural. What can be more natural than that a man should go where his heart---- But if I say any more in this strain, you will be angry?" "Most assuredly,"