"I see, then, that it was not you who sent it to me," said Violet at last, and, as she said it, a certain gladness, a little thrill of relief, occurred somewhere within her. Van Hupfeldt straightened himself. His lips were white, but they smiled dreadfully, though for some part of a second he hesitated before he said: "Now, who told you that?" "I do not, of course, know the facts," said Violet; "but I should like to." "You may as well know," said Van Hupfeldt, turning away from her. "Yes, I sent it." Violet flushed. His manner did not carry conviction even to a mind not used to doubt the spoken word. It was horrid to think he was lying. Yet an odd sheepishness was visible in his face; his voice was not strong and brave. "Well, I am still in a maze," she murmured. "Since it was you who sent it, and since you say in it that my sister's honor is now 'a pretty certain thing,' and that 'the proofs will be forthcoming,' why did you say a moment ago that it is 'a mere dream' to look forward to their forthcoming?" Van Hupfeldt was looking out of the window. He did not answer at once; only after a minute he replied without looking round: "It was I who sent you the note. Yes, it was I; and what I say in it is true--somehow--true in some way; but I did not wish you to make the realization of those hopes a condition of your giving yourself to me. Hence I said that your stipulation was 'a mere dream.' Now, you understand; now, I think, all is clear to your mind." Violet sighed, and made no answer. All was not so very clear to her mind. One thing only was clear, that the nobility with which she and her mother had credited Van Hupfeldt in sending the note anonymously, so that he might not claim a reward from her, was not a deep nobility; for he had promptly volunteered the information that it was he who had sent it. She felt some disgust. A woman disillusioned about a man rushes to the opposite pole. Let him but be detected to be not the hero which she had thought him, and steep is his fall. Henceforth he is not only not a hero but less than nothing in her eyes. Violet paced aimlessly through the room, then went to the window farthest from that at which Van Hupfeldt stood, and the unspoken words on her lips were: "The miserable man." At last Van Hupfeldt almost rushed at her, with the cry: "The promise on that sheet of paper in your hand shall be fulfilled, and fulfilled by me, I vow, I swear it to you! But the fulfilment of it must not be made a condition of our union. The union must come first, and then the fulfilment; and the quicker the union the sooner the fulfilment." "No, I will not have it so." "You must!" "You are to release my wrist, Mr. Van Hupfeldt!" "You must!" "But why hold me?"