"Then what do you ask of me?" he said coldly, as he felt the impossibility of argument at such a time. "My husband's freedom, your apology, and declaration to the whole world that he has been falsely charged. You can do no more. It is impossible to wipe out this disgrace." He made a couple of steps towards her, and took her cold hands in his, raised them to his lips with tender reverence, and kissed them. "Millicent, my child," he said, with his voice sounding very deep and soft, "do not blame me. My position was forced upon me, and you do not know the sacrifice it has cost me as I thought of you--the sacrifice it will be to Mr Dixon and myself to repair the losses we have sustained." She snatched her hands from his, and her eyes flashed with anger. Her rage was but of a few moments' duration. Then she had flung herself upon her knees at his feet, and, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, sobbed forth: "I am mad! I am mad! I don't know what I say. Sir Gordon--dear Sir Gordon, help us. It is not true. He is innocent. My noble husband could not have descended to such baseness. Sir Gordon, save him! save him!--my poor child's father--my husband, whom I love so well. You do not answer. You do not heed my words. Is man so cruel, then, to the unfortunate? Can you so treat the girl who reverenced you as a child-- the woman you said you loved? Man--man!" she cried passionately, "can you not see that my heart is breaking? and yet you, who by a word could save him, now look on and coldly turn a deaf ear to my prayers. Oh, fool! fool! fool! that I was to think that help could come from man. God, help me now, or else in Thy mercy let me die!" As she spoke these last words, she threw her head back and raised her clasped hands in passionate appeal, while Sir Gordon's lips moved as he repeated the first portion of her prayer, and then stayed and stood gazing down upon the agonised face. "Millicent," he said at last, as he raised her from where she knelt, and almost placed her in an easy-chair, where she subsided, weak and helpless almost as a child, "listen to me." He paused to clear his voice, which sounded very husky. Then continuing: "For your sake--for the sake of your innocent child, I promise that on the part of Mr Dixon and myself there shall be no harsh treatment, no persecution. Your husband shall have justice." "That is all I ask," cried Millicent, starting forward. "Justice, only justice; for he is innocent." "My poor girl!" said Sir Gordon warmly; "there," he cried, with a pitying smile, "you see I speak to you as if the past six or seven years had not glided away." "Yes, yes," she said, clinging to his hand, "forget them, and speak as my dear old friend." "I will," he said firmly. "And believe me, Millicent, if it were a question merely of the money--my money that I have lost--I would forgive your husband." "Forgive--"