"And why do you tell this story to _me_?" she inquired. "To set myself right with _you_. I shall go back to England, and no one else will ever know that it was not Sir Edward Parkington who sojourned among them." "And why should I concern you--why wish me to know it and the others not." "Because I love you," he answered. "From the first day I met you, I have loved you." "And why, sir, has it taken you so long to tell it?" she asked, after a pause. "I would not admit it, even to myself, until the time for separation drove me to it."--He slipped his arm around her, and drew her to him. "Martha!--sweetheart!--come home with me?" he whispered. A moment she yielded, then abruptly released herself. May be he loved her, and she loved him as well as she could any man, but that was neither here nor there. If he were a De Lysle--she would marry him; love was not essential. But was he a De Lysle? "You must realize," she said, "that whether I love or whether I do not, I can not marry you without further proof of your real identity." "Sir Charles Brandon will vouch for me," he answered. "You forget, that it was you vouched for him." "True--but he has documents which will prove him Sir Charles Brandon." "And you had the best sort of documents to prove you Sir Edward Parkington." "I do not know what to say. Take me on faith, sweetheart." "It would be a dangerous experiment!" she laughed; "to marry on faith, and find you a common rogue, when we got to London." "Do I look a common rogue?" he smiled. She turned and let her eyes move slowly over him. He was a brave figure, certainly, in his white silk coat and breeches--his cloth of silver waistcoat--his slender, well-shaped legs--his dark hair powdered--his handsome, aristocratic face. "No--I admit you appear of the rank you claim; and you act it, too. But I must have more than appearances and acts." He made a gesture of resignation and defeat. "I have done my best," he said; "I am helpless to do more--unless you will come to London, and marry me there, after I have satisfied you of my identity." "You mean it?" she demanded. Here was good faith. "Unreservedly," he answered. "Anything to take you back with me. Though I would rather you went as wife." He was doing his utmost to impress her--to have her intervene with the Governor, and keep the scandal hid. She hesitated--then the truth came with a rush. "The letter I spoke of," she said--"Lady Catherwood's--I gave it to his Excellency to act on as he saw fit." "My God!" he cried. "It will ruin me--he will not excuse." "You may thank the broken rendezvous, if it does," she replied. "That was what you wished with me!"--he exclaimed--"and when I did not come you were angry!--oh! I see, sweetheart--you _do_ care, for you were jealous." He was playing the part well. "I do not know why I did it. I was hasty. I repent." She sprang up. "I will go to the Governor--I will try to undo it. Wait here!" and she sped away.