“I have taken a long journey, in the full hope that you might help him—that you might show me a way to prove his innocence, and set him free,” she said, in the same earnest pleading voice. “If you can do that—if you will help him—I will bless you from the depths of my grateful heart; I will believe that you are true and kind and generous; and I will beg you to forget any harsh thing I may ever have said to you.” He moved nearer to the table, and leant his hands upon it, and looked at her across the flickering candle-light. “I have read somewhere,” he said, slowly—“in some book made for babes and sucklings—that the love of a woman will make an angel of a man—and raise him up, and exalt him. It’s a lie; no such thing ever happened. So far as I have loved, the love of a woman is a thing wherein are bound up hatred and bitterness and murder—and every devil-made thing that belongs to the darkness. They talk of a woman scorned; what think you of a man scorned? What think you of a man, who—eating his heart out for one smile—one word of tenderness from a mere slip of a girl—is met by looks which show him only disgust and repugnance? You thought it a fine thing to fling aside the love of a man like myself, and take up with a mere boy—didn’t you?” “I never flung aside your love,” replied the girl, scornfully. “I told you, from the first, that I could not care for you—that I loved some one else. Had you been a gentleman—even a man——” “A gentleman!” he sneered. “What has gentility to do with this business? It’s a question between a man and a woman—and you shall find that the man wins. Oh—my pretty maid—I swore a long time ago that no other man should stand between you and myself; I swore that I would have you, and would bend you as it pleased me—or break you. Yes—you’ve roused a lurking devil in me—and I’ll stick at nothing now. First—let us understand each other, in regard to Dandy Chater.” He took a turn or two about the room, with his head bent, as though undecided what to say, or what to leave unsaid. At last, going to his former position near the table and standing there, he began to say what he had to say. “You loved Dandy Chater—oh—don’t interrupt me; you would say you love him still, I suppose?—I knew that, from your own lips, as well as from what I saw and heard when you were together. I wonder if you would love him now—if you could see him?” “I don’t understand you,” she said, in a low voice. “Why should I not?” “Because—well because he wouldn’t look nice,” he responded, with a grim laugh. “In a word—because he’s dead.” Through the mind of the girl there floated the words the little man who had accompanied Harry had spoken—“One is dead—the other living!” But she said nothing; she was almost afraid to speak, because she wanted so desperately to hear what he had to say in explanation of that mystery.