Aubrey took his hand away from his white face. “That,” he said, in a strange, dead, tuneless voice, “is not true.” “Oh, more shame to you, Aubrey, more shame to you,” cried Mrs. Kingsward, forgetting her judicial character in her indignation as a woman, “if it is not true!--” She paused a moment to draw her breath, then added, “But indeed you were not so wicked as you say, for it is true. And here is the evidence. Oh!” she cried, with tears in her eyes, “it makes your conduct to my child worse; but it shows that you were not then, not then, as bad as you say.” Bee had dropped into the chair that was next to her, and there sat, for her limbs had so trembled that she could not stand, watching him, never taking her eyes from him, as if he were a book in which the interpretation of this mystery was---- “Never mind about me,” he said, hoarsely. “I say nothing for myself. Allow me to be as bad as a man can be, but that is not true. And what is the evidence? You never told me there was any evidence.” “Sir,” said Mrs. Kingsward, fully roused, “I told you all that was in my husband’s letter last night.” “Yes--that she,” a sort of shudder seemed to run over him, to the keen sight of the watchers--“that she--said so. You don’t know, as I do, that _that_ is no evidence. But you speak now as if there was something more.” She took a piece of folded paper from her lap. “There is this,” she said, “a letter you wrote to her the morning you went away.” “I did write her a letter,” he said. Mrs. Kingsward held it out to him, but was stopped by Charlie, who put his hand on her arm. “Keep this document, mother. Don’t put the evidence against him into a man’s power. I’ll read it if Mr. Leigh thinks proper.” Once more Aubrey and Bee together, with a simultaneous impulse, looked at this intruder into their story. “Mamma! send him away. I should like to kill him!” said Bee within her clenched teeth. “Be quiet, Charlie. Mr. Leigh, I am ready to put this or any other evidence against you into your hands.” He bowed very gravely, and then stood once more as if he were made of stone. Mrs. Kingsward faltered very much, her agitated face flushed. “It begins,” she said, in a low fluttering voice, “My dear little wife----” Then there came a very strange sound into the agitated silence, for Aubrey Leigh, on trial for more than his life, here laughed. “What more, what more?” he said. “No, it is not that. It is--‘I don’t want my dear little wife to be troubled about anything. It can all be done quite easily and quietly, without giving an occasion for people to talk; a settlement made and everything you could desire. I shall make arrangements about everything to-day.’ It is signed A. L., and it is in your handwriting. Bee, you can see it is in his handwriting; look for yourself.”