Hammond started at the question. The color began slowly to return to his face. “I should like you to beg your daughter to forgive me--if she ever can.” The marquis looked down at Belle and gently patted the head that rested on his arm. “What do you say?” he asked her. The eyes remained downcast. The answer came, very soft and low: “Tell him that it wasn’t his fault, and, if it was, I had forgiven him already.” Her father looked back again at Hammond. “Anything else?” Hammond began to tremble. There was color enough, and to spare, in his face now. “Yesterday evening your daughter told me that she did not love me. I should like you to ask her if there is any hope that she will ever change her mind.” “Well, my dear?” It was Belle’s turn to tremble. “Tell him--tell him that I shall never change my mind. But”--she raised her eyes at last, with that look which only comes into a woman’s eyes once in her life, and which only one man sees there--“but--that I don’t always speak the truth.” The Marquis of Severn went out quietly, leaving them together. THE END TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.