“I was grateful for this tribute to Genevra, for I felt that it was deserved; and I turned again to the notice of her death, which must have occurred within a short time of her father’s, and was probably induced by past troubles and recent anxiety for him. “Genevra Lambert died at Alnwick, aged 22. There could be no mistake, and with a tear to the memory of the dead whom I had loved and injured, I burned the paper, feeling that now there was no clue to the secret I was as anxious to preserve as was my mother. “And so the years wore on till I met and married you, withholding from you that yours was not the first love which had stirred my heart. I meant to tell you, Katy, but I could not for the great fear of losing you if you knew all. And then an error concealed so long is hard to be confessed. I took you across the sea to Brighton, where I first met Genevra, and then to Alnwick, seeking out the grave which made assurance doubly sure. It was natural that I should make some inquiries concerning her last days; I questioned the old sexton who was at work near by. Calling his attention to the name, I said it was an uncommon one and asked if he knew the girl. “‘Not by sight, no,’ he said. ‘She was only here a few days before she died. I’ve heard she was very winsome and that there was a scandal of some kind mixed up with her.’ “I would not ask him any more; and without any wrong to you, I confess that my tears dropped upon the turf under which I knew Genevra lay.” “I am glad they did; I should hate you if you had not cried,” Katy exclaimed, her voice more natural than it had been since the great shock came. “Do you forgive me, Katy? Do you love me as well as ever?” Wilford asked, stooping down to kiss her, but Katy drew her face away and would not answer then. She did not know herself how she felt towards him. He did not seem just like the husband she had trusted in so blindly. It would take a long time to forget that another head than hers had lain upon his bosom, and it would take longer yet to blot out the memory of complaining words uttered to his mother. She had never thought he could do that, never dreamed of such a thing, knowing that she would sooner have parted with her right hand than complained of him. Her idol had fallen in more respects than one, and the heart it had bruised in the fall refused at once to gather the shattered pieces up and call them as good as new. She was not so obstinate as Wilford began to fancy. She was only stunned and could not rally at his bidding. He confessed the whole, keeping nothing back, and he felt that Katy was unjust not to acknowledge his magnanimity and restore him to her favor. Again he asked forgiveness, and bent down to kiss her, but Katy answered, “Not yet, Wilford, not till I feel all right towards you. A wife’s kiss should be sincere.”