At last he stopped short and stood looking at her, his face as deeply flushed as it had been pale. She made an effort to speak, but it seemed impossible, and she averted her eyes. It was true, she knew now that it was true--Fanchon had deceived him. The whole miserable tragedy that had crossed her own life, as well as his, was laid bare before her. She could not look at him; she felt a tightening in her throat. “Listen”--he was still standing in front of her, a grim figure of anger and despair--“I want to tell you the truth. I must tell you, Virginia----” She stopped him with an involuntary gesture of protest. “Oh, William, how can you?” she cried softly, reproachfully. She had lifted her clear eyes to his, unshadowed and beautiful. He flinched from the look, and suddenly he was dumb. He turned with a poignant gesture of pain, averting his face. Virginia rose from her chair and walked to the window. She was no longer flushed; she was very pale. Her breath was coming short, but her eyes were clear and luminous as she looked out on the old familiar garden, with its box-bordered flower-beds and the wicker table under the old horse-chestnut. She could almost see the tall, white head of her grandfather. She thought, at the moment, that she saw more than that. There was also a vision of her father--a good man, too, and her mother. They had been noble-minded--as noble-minded as her grandfather was to-day. In his simple, kindly old-fashioned way, Colonel Denbigh was a gentleman, and Virginia knew it. She clung to the window-sill, her hands trembling. She had a woman’s heart, she was very human--William had come back! How some women would have triumphed in a rival’s misfortune! Then she heard his voice. “I’ve done wrong--everything has been tragic and terrible. It’s almost too much to ask, but--Virginia, can you forgive me?” For a moment Virginia could not speak. She did not even look at him. She was looking far across the lawn toward the white road that led to the town; but she saw nothing. Her eyes misted. The break in his voice touched her; it hurt her to hear it. She pitied him, yet there was a change in her. She had not known it until this moment, but now she knew it. It was as if she had seen through a glass darkly, and now the veil was withdrawn, and she looked into a clear mirror and beheld her own image as it really was. Nothing could ever be the same again, nothing could be as it had been before, because her eyes were open. “Did you hear me, Virginia!” he said hoarsely. “Will you forgive me?” She lifted her eyes reluctantly to his again, turning from white to red, but her lips no longer trembled. “I forgive you, William,” she replied gently, and she held out her hand. He took it and held it a moment while he searched her eyes. Then he turned and made his way blindly out of the room and out of the house.