It was with a beating heart that she presently found herself at the house where Cyril was living. He was acting as _locum tenens_ for a friend who was enjoying his holiday abroad. The servant, thinking she was a late patient, ushered her into a little waiting-room, and from there, a few moments later, into the consulting-room. Cyril, who was standing at the window, turned and started in astonishment as he recognised her. "What! Miss Westbrook!" he exclaimed, as he hurried forward. "The doctor----?" Madge held out her hand impulsively. "No," said she; and then, without further preamble, she plunged tumultuously into the reason that had brought her there. "I have come to beg your pardon. Oh, you must forgive me for what--what I said. I'm so sorry--oh, so sorry; but I couldn't help it. Please read this before you say anything." She thrust Jack's letter into Cyril's hand. The young man took it, glanced at the super-scription, and flushed. "Ah! so Jack has betrayed me!" said he, as he commenced to read. "And you are not angry at my deception?" He looked into her eager, appealing face. "It is I who must ask forgiveness, but----" "But you hurt me very much indeed," broke in Madge. "You should not have done it; no, you should not. I said things--I misjudged you, because you--oh, you had disappointed me--wounded me so much." Her eyes grew humid and her last words faltered and fell almost to a whisper. "I--I thought the end justified the means," stammered Cyril. He scarcely knew what to say. He turned to the letter again. There followed a momentary silence while Cyril read on. Suddenly his heart bounded wildly, and the writing swam before his eyes as he came to Jack's declaration of freedom. He dropped the letter and turned to her. "Miss Westbrook--Madge--tell me--you must! Did you love him?" "I--I had promised," she whispered, with drooping eyelids. "Promised! Promised! Only promised? I always thought you loved him," exclaimed Cyril. Madge did not reply, but the colour surged sudden and warm into her half-averted cheek. "My dear! my dear!" said he, passionately, as he caught both her hands in his. "It was I that loved you after all--not Jack. I deceived you for your sake, not for his. What could I do? Could I see you suffer? I have loved you from the first, but I never thought to tell you this. Is it useless for me to do so now? Madge, dear, is it? Is it?" [Illustration: "HE CAUGHT BOTH HER HANDS IN HIS."] There was no reply, but as he drew her unresisting form towards him he read his answer in her uplifted, happy eyes. [Illustration: CHILDHOOD IN PICTURES] By S. K. LUDOVIC. [Illustration: "ASLEEP." _From the Painting by F. Charderon._ By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.]