“Yes, but don't blame me too much,” she said pathetically. “It was a wild, a silly deceit, but it was partly forced upon me. For when I first arrived across the plains, at the frontier, I was still bearing my husband's name, and although I was alone and helpless, I found myself strangely welcomed and respected by those rude frontiersmen. It was not long before I saw it was because I was presumed to be the widow of ALLEN MacGlowrie--who had just died in San Francisco. I let them think so, for I knew--what they did not--that Allen's wife had separated from him and married again, and that my taking his name could do no harm. I accepted their kindness; they gave me my first start in business, which brought me here. It was not much of a deceit,” she continued, with a slight tremble of her pretty lip, “to prefer to pass as the widow of a dead desperado than to be known as the divorced wife of a living convict. It has hurt no one, and it has saved me just now.” “You were right! No one could blame you,” said Blair eagerly, seizing her hand. But she disengaged it gently, and went on:-- “And now you wonder why I gave him a meeting here?” “I wonder at nothing but your courage and patience in all this suffering!” said Blair fervently; “and at your forgiving me for so cruelly misunderstanding you.” “But you must learn all. When I first saw MacGlowrie under his assumed name, I fainted, for I was terrified and believed he knew I was here and had come to expose me even at his own risk. That was why I hesitated between going away or openly defying him. But it appears he was more frightened than I at finding me here--he had supposed I had changed my name after the divorce, and that Mrs. MacGlowrie, Laurel Spring, was his cousin's widow. When he found out who I was he was eager to see me and agree upon a mutual silence while he was here. He thought only of himself,” she added scornfully, “and Colonel Starbottle's recognition of him that night as the convicted swindler was enough to put him to flight.” “And the colonel never suspected that you were his wife?” said Blair. “Never! He supposed from the name that he was some relation of my husband, and that was why he refused to tell it--for my sake. The colonel is an old fogy--and pompous--but a gentleman--as good as they make them!” A slightly jealous uneasiness and a greater sense of shame came over Blair. “I seem to have been the only one who suspected and did not aid you,” he said sadly, “and yet God knows”-- The widow had put up her slim hand in half-smiling, half-pathetic interruption.