"I have no definite views on the subject," I answered, "except that he intended to do you some evil, and has up to the present been thwarted." "You'll make me quite nervous if you talk like that," she responded, laughing. "Let us forget him. You once admired that woman, Aline Cloud, but that circumstance has passed out of my mind." "You must leave that place and go down to Stamford," I said decisively. "A rest in the country will do you good, and in a few months we will marry." "I'll have to give a month's notice before I leave," she answered. "No. Leave to-morrow," I said. "For I cannot bear to think, dearest, that now you are to be my wife you should still bear that terrible drudgery." She sighed, and her countenance grew troubled, as if something oppressed her. This caused me some apprehension, for it seemed as though, even now, she was not perfectly happy. I gave tongue to this thought, but with a light laugh she assured me of her perfect contentment, and that her regret was only of the past. Then we sat together, chatting in ecstatic enthusiasm, as I suppose all lovers do, planning a future, wherein our bliss was to be unalloyed and our love undying. And as we talked I saw how at last she became composed in that haven of contentment which is so perfect after the troubled sea of regret and despair, while I, too, felt that at last I wanted nothing, for the great desire of my life had been fulfilled. Suddenly, however, thoughts of Aline, the mysterious woman who had come between us so strangely, the friend of this man Hibbert and the secret acquaintance of poor Roddy, crossed my mind, and I resolved to gain from her what knowledge she possessed. Therefore, with care and skill I led our conversation up to her, and then point-blank asked her what she knew regarding this woman whose face was that of an angel, and whose heart was that of Satan. I saw how she started at mention of Aline's name; how the colour fled from her cheeks, and how sudden was her resolve to fence with me; for at once she asserted her ignorance, and suggested that we might mutually agree to bury the past. "But she is a mystery, Muriel," I said; "a mystery which I have been trying in vain to solve through all these months. Tell me all you know of her, dearest." "I know nothing," she declared, in a nervous tone. "Absolutely nothing." "But are you aware that this man, Hibbert, the man with whom you associated, was her friend--her lover?" "What!" she cried, her face in an instant undergoing a strange transformation. "He--her lover?" "Yes," I answered. "Did you not know they were friends?" "I can't believe it," she answered, pale-faced and bewildered. Whatever was the revelation I had made to her it had evidently caused within her a strong revulsion of feeling. I had, indeed, strong suspicion that these words of mine had supplied some missing link in a chain of facts which had long perplexed and puzzled her.