"I was, in believing Walter," said Charvington, "and not until lately have I learned how I was deceived. Walter was always plausible and clever. Besides, I kept the fact of my marriage secret from my father lest he should disinherit me. Walter made capital out of that also. Then there was Helen----" "Helen," cried Mrs. Walker, rising, much agitated. "She always hated me and hated Kate because Kate was pretty and you loved her. Helen and Walter caused all the trouble." "I know that now; I did not know it then," said Charvington sadly. "I was always foolish as you remarked just now. I was living in Paris with my wife. Lesbia was a baby then. We met Helen, who pretended to be our friend." "A friend such as Walter was," muttered Mrs. Walker. "I fear so, but let us say nothing since Helen is now my wife." "You let her off too easily." "She is now my wife," said Charvington determinedly, "so that puts an end to all discussion. Besides, Walter was to blame, as my wife informed me in a conversation we had when she refused to be present at this meeting. He worked on Kate's feelings and made her believe that I was in love with Helen. I was wrong also, for then I went about much with Helen, while my wife was ill, so that in the end Kate grew jealous." "You treated her worse than I thought," said Mrs. Walker darkly. Charvington threw out his hands. "I never was a hero," he said entreatingly, "but surely I have suffered for my weakness--the weakness of a pleasure-loving man. I was wrong; I here admit publicly that I was wrong. Surely you will believe that my repentance is sincere." Mrs. Walker looked at his drawn face and admitted that it was. After all, few men would have had the courage to stand up and speak as Charvington was now speaking--to lay bare the secrets of their weakness and strive, even at the eleventh hour, to make amends. Charvington had sinned through weakness; he confessed through strength gained from the lessons of a hard life, hard in spite of his outward show of prosperity. "I forgive you," said Mrs. Walker in softer tones, "go on." "I come to the cruellest part," said Charvington in a thick voice. "Kate was so jealous that she fled with the child. I searched for her but could not find her. It was in winter. Then Walter sent for me. I came to England and he told me that Kate had come to him weak and ill and almost starving. She had sold what jewels she possessed to feed herself and her child, and only retained the amethyst cross which her father had given her. Then she went to Walter at Wimbledon, and there died in the arms of Bridget Burke." "Was Mr. Hale married then?" asked George anxiously. "No. He never married in his life. But when I arrived my wife was buried and had left the child to the care of Bridget, and also had given her the cross saying it was to be handed to Lesbia when she grew up." "Bridget gave it to me on her death-bed," sighed Lesbia, who wept bitterly.