"You do not know, dear--there: I call you dear," she whispered, in her sweet, soft, caressing voice. "You are hurting me terribly with your cruel grasp, but it is nothing to the agony you make me suffer by believing I could be so deceitful and base." He laughed mockingly again, and she drew in her breath with a low sigh, as a wave of hot indignation mastered her once more, and closed her lips. But love prevailed once more. She stopped, and tried to fling herself upon his breast, clinging wildly to him with the arm that was free. "No, no; Clive, my own love, my hero, I would rather that you killed me than believed all this." He repulsed her with a cry of disgust, and again there was the low sighing sound of her breath, but she went on again-- "I forgive you, dear," she said hurriedly. "You are my own; I am yours. I gave myself heart and soul to you, Clive, and you shall hear me." He tried to drag her onward along the path, but she would not stir, and nothing but the most cruel violence would have moved her then, as she went on. "Something tries to make me say `Go on in your disbelief, for you are cruel, and do not deserve my love!' but I must, I will speak. Kill me, then, if you will not believe. It would be so easy. There," she cried; and she took a step before him right to the edge of the path where the precipice went perpendicularly down to the rough stones among which the river gurgled three hundred feet below. He made a snatch to drag her back, but she resisted him and stood firm. "I was sitting at home--alone," she said hurriedly, "when the man brought your message." "My message!" he cried, with a mocking laugh. "Yes; your telegram with its few words which sent joy to my weary heart, as I waited for news of him I loved." "My telegram!" he said, with the same low, harsh laugh. "There, back home to your father, woman. I believed, but I am awake now, and can be fooled no more." She struggled with herself again, and panted wildly. "You must, you shall believe me, dear. I forgive you all this because I know it is your great love for me, and you think I have deceived you. Yes; I know what you must feel, dear, and so I beat down all my cruel anger, and humble myself like this in my pity for you and despair. I read your dear words." "My words! I sent no telegram. I came down hurrying to be once more at the side of the woman who in my folly I believed to be a saint. I come and I find her clasped in the arms of my greatest enemy--my own brother--and you talk to me like this." She uttered a low, piteous wail, and the struggle within her was intense. "Yes, it is true; you sent me that message--`Coming down by the three six train to Blinkdale. Meet me along the high path.'" "It is false," he cried hastily. "No, no," she cried, as her hand went to the bosom of her dress, and she snatched out a crumpled-up piece of paper. "Take it and read."