"I thought you loved me," he rejoined, quite petrified at her words. "I did love you; I do love you; if to avow it will do any good now. But this dreadful sorrow has placed a barrier between us." There ensued a bitter pause. Robert Hunter was smarting with a sense of injustice. "Mary Anne! Surely you are not laying on _me_ the blame of that terrible calamity!" "Listen, Robert," she returned. "I am not so unjust as to blame you for the actual calamity, but I cannot forget that you and I have been the cause of it." "You!" "Yes, I. When my father heard that I had invited you down, he came to me, and forbid me to let you come. I see now why. They did not want strangers in his house, who might see more than was expedient. He commanded me to write and stop you. I disobeyed; I thought papa spoke but in compliance with a whim of Richard's; and I would not write. Had I obeyed him, all this would have been spared. Again, when you and I told what the supervisor said, that there were smugglers abroad, my father ordered us, you especially, not to interfere. Had you observed his wishes to the letter, Cyril would have been alive now. These reflections haunt me continually; they will be mine for ever. No, Robert, you and I must live apart. If I were to marry you, I should expect Cyril to rise reproachfully before me on our wedding-day." "Oh, Mary Anne! Believe me you see matters in a false light. If----" "I will not discuss it," she peremptorily interrupted, "it would be of no avail, and I shudder while I speak. Spare me argument." "I think you are forgetting that I have a stake in the matter as well as yourself," he quietly said, his tone proving how great the pain was. "Do you not know what, deprived of you, my future life will be? At least, I have a right to say a few words." "Well--yes, that's true. I suppose I did forget, Robert." "Forgive me then for reminding you that the sole and immediate cause of Cyril's death, is _Richard_. I did nothing whatever to help it on; my conscience is clear; the most prejudiced man could not charge me with it. And you? It is certainly a pity--I am speaking plainly--that you disobeyed Mr. Thornycroft in allowing me to come to the Red Court; it was very wrong; but still you did it not with any ill intention, and certainly do not merit the punishment of being condemned to live a lonely life." "But Richard is my brother. See what it has brought on _him_." "What he has brought upon himself," corrected Mr. Hunter. "I do not see that his being your brother throws, or should be allowed to throw any bar upon your marriage with me. You would not say so had he been a stranger." "Where is the use of arguing?" she broke in. "I cannot bear it; I will not hear it. All is at an end between us. Do you forgive me, Robert, if I cause you pain? Nothing in the world, or out of it, shall ever induce me to become your wife." "Is this your fixed determination?"