Taking the letter in silence, Hilliston turned frightfully pale, and the perspiration stood in large beads on his forehead. He expected some such appointment to be made, yet the evidence in his hand startled him all the same. The promptitude of action spoke volumes to one of his acute perceptions. To defend his good name would require all his skill and experience, for he had to do with men of action, who acted as quickly as they thought. The duel would be more equal than he had thought. "Are you still determined to tell all," he said in a low tone, crushing the paper up in his hand. "Yes." The monosyllable was uttered in so icy a manner that Hilliston lost his temper completely. Before this woman there was no need for him to retain his smiling mask, and in a frenzy of rage he hurried into rapid speech, frantic and unconsidered. "Ah, you would ruin me!" he cried, springing to his feet; "you would drag up those follies of '66, and make London too hot to hold me! Have I not implored, threatened, beseeched, commanded--done everything in my power to make you hold your peace? Miserable woman, would you drag the man you love down to----" "The man I loved you mean," responded Mrs. Bezel, in nowise moved by this torrent of abuse. "Pray do not be theatrical, Francis. You know me well enough to be aware that when my mind is made up I am not easily moved. A man of your brains," she added scornfully, "should know that loss of temper is but the prelude to defeat." Recognizing the truth of this remark, Hilliston resumed his seat, and subdued his anger. Only the look of hatred in his eyes betrayed his real feelings; otherwise he was calm, suave, and self-controlled. "Have you weighed the cost of your action?" he demanded quietly. "Yes. It means ruin to us both. But the loss is yours, not mine. Helpless and deserted, life has no further charms for me, but you, Mr. Hilliston, doubtless feel differently." "Margaret," he said entreatingly, "why do you speak like this? What harm have I done you that----" "What harm!" she interrupted fiercely. "Have you not ruined me, have you not deserted me, have you not robbed me of all that I loved? My life has been one long agony, and you are to blame for it all. Not a word," she continued imperiously. "I shall speak. I insist upon your knowing the truth!" "Go on," he said sullenly; "I listen." "I loved you once, Francis. I loved you to my own cost. For your sake I lost everything--position, home, respect, and love. And you--what did you do?" Hilliston looked round the room, and shrugged his shoulders. Look and gesture were so eloquent that she commented on them at once. "Do you think I valued this splendor? I know well enough that you gave me all material comforts. But I wanted more than this. I wanted love." "You had it."