For the first time since Dorothy had known him, he had lost his light and cynical manner and spoke with simple earnestness. He had made no display of emotion, but though he was calm and self-restrained, it was yet evident he spoke with abundant feeling. If he was not sincere, his humility and contrition were well assumed. “I have been looking all my life,” he went on, looking at her steadily as she kept her eyes bent on the book that still lay open on her knees; “I have been seeking all my life for a quiet heart--I, the libertine, the gambler who have squandered my patrimony and wasted my heritage. It was not to be found where I sought it, and my search was in vain. But now I know the secret that I was too blind to see before. Do you know, my cousin, what it is? Nay, you will not rise, for you must hear me out. It is love--the love a man may feel for what is purer and better than himself, the love that fills him with fresh hopes and new desires, the love that raises him to the pure heights of her he worships.” Then he suddenly stopped. Hardly knowing what answer to make, Dorothy rose from her seat and the Vicomte stooped down to pick up the book that had fallen to the floor. He said gravely as he reached it to her, “That is all my secret, my cousin, and does not sound so terrible when all is said. I trust you will remember it, for some day I may tell you how I came to make the great discovery.” “Lady Hester would have made a better confidante or, perhaps, my brother Jasper. And that reminds me, Victor,” she continued, with a too evident anxiety to change the subject of this conversation, “I have often longed to ask what Jasper and yourself find to talk about during the long hours you spend together in his chamber.” “Jasper is learning a very useful lesson,” answered De Laprade resuming his old manner, “which I teach him out of my experience. But now his education is nearly finished and we shall see whether he will profit by it.” “I suppose like all who learn their lesson in that school,” said Dorothy soberly enough, “he will pay for it?” De Laprade looked at her gravely, and then took her hand in both of his. “It would be an idle affectation in me to pretend that I am ignorant of your meaning, but I think you are wronging me with an unjust thought. I am a gambler, it is true, and love the music of the dice, but your brother, heedless as he is, will not suffer at my hands. Were he not my kinsman who has given me shelter, he is the brother of Dorothy Carew.” “I know you will forgive me,” said Dorothy contritely. “But if I know Jasper he will look to you for payment of your losses. And he is rich while you----” “Am standing in my kingdom,” laughed De Laprade. “Do not trouble your mind about our play--´tis all for love.” * * * * *