He turned the subject, and began to talk of the garden and the flowers, in his usual quiet, cheerful way, till Peggy began to steal shy glances at him under her eyelashes, and finally to hold her head up and smile without looking as if she had stolen a sheep. They had not long to wait. Before they had settled the position of the new rose-bed, Rita's door was heard to open softly; then came the sound of trailing garments in slow and stately motion, and the next moment Rita entered the room. She was dressed in deep black from head to foot. A black veil covered her hair, and hung gracefully from her shoulders, and in her hand she carried a black fan. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked pale but lovely. Mr. Montfort rose and came forward, holding out his hand. "My dear niece," he said with some formality, "let us shake hands in all friendliness." But Rita did not take the outstretched hand. Instead, she folded her hands, and sank down in the deepest and most beautiful courtesy that ever was seen. Her eyes remained downcast, the long lashes resting on her clear, white cheek. [Illustration: RITA'S APOLOGY.] "My uncle," she said, and her tone was dignified, pathetic, and resentful, all in one, "I come to make my submission to you, and to ask your pardon for my offences. My brother demands it, and I obey the head of my house, the representative of my father. I pray you to forgive me!" Mr. Montfort subdued an unruly twinkle in his eyes, and answered gravely: "I pardon you, my niece, freely. I beg you to consider the matter as if it had never existed. My house is yours, and all that it contains; pray be seated." Rita looked up, startled at hearing in English the phrase of Spanish courtesy so familiar to her ears; but Mr. Montfort's face was inscrutable, as he brought forward a chair, and handed her to it as if she were a duchess. But Rita was not ready to sit down yet; she had arranged her scene, and must go through with it. She advanced, and knelt down by Margaret's couch. "Marguerite," she said sadly, "you saved my life. It was valueless, I have learned; it was not worth the saving; nevertheless I thank you from my heart of hearts. I--" Here she caught sight of the bandaged hands, which Margaret had been trying to conceal beneath the afghan. Instantly the tragic mask fell from Rita's face, and left a real human countenance, full of pity and anxiety. "My dear!" she cried. "My angel, my poor suffering Marguerite. Ah! you sent me word it was nothing. You are injured, terribly injured, and by my fault. Ah! now Carlos _must_ let me die, as I desire. Life is no longer possible!"