"This mystery is, I confess, Ella, driving me to distraction," I said, halting at last before her. "Cannot you confide in me? I will preserve silence, I promise." "No, no," she gasped in fear. "I dare not." Her attitude was one of deep dejection, yet I could not fail to notice, even at this moment of her abject despair, how beautiful she was. But a look of unutterable terror was in her deep blue eyes, and upon her handsome features was an expression as though, dreading exposure, she were haunted by some terrible ghost of the past. "You told me this once before," I said gravely, "and I trusted you. To-day I have discovered my confidence ill-placed." "Trust me once again," she cried hoarsely. "Only once, and I will show you ere long that your suspicions are utterly without foundation." I took another turn up and down the drawing-room, my hands clasped behind my back, my gaze fixed upon the carpet. I was still undecided. With a sudden impulse she rushed forward, and flinging her warm arms about my neck, kissed me, next second bursting into tears and burying her face upon my shoulder. My hand unconsciously stroked her hair, and, bending, I pressed my lips upon her soft cheek. Then she knew that I had forgiven, and holding back her sobs with difficulty, raised her face, and kissing me passionately, thanked me in a low, broken voice, assuring me that I should never regret the step I had taken. During half-an-hour we remained together, she full of love and confidence, I admiring and hopeful. I was glad I had not acted rashly, nor left her as I had intended, and as we went in to dinner arm in arm, we laughed together, joyous in each other's love. After we had eaten, I smoked a cigarette and lingered as long as possible, happy with my well-beloved; then kissing her fondly, I was compelled to take a hansom to Berkeley Square, promising her to return at the earliest possible moment, and expressing confidence that our love would last always. The Earl, grumbling at my tardy arrival, was busy in his library with a number of important dispatches relating to our affairs in the East. When he had expressed displeasure that I had not been waiting to receive him, he added,-- "But there, I suppose now you are married, Deedes, your wife is exacting; they always are. She likes you to dine with her, eh?" "Yes," I admitted, smiling. "I did dine at home." "Ah, I thought so," snapped the shrewd old Minister. "A good dinner and your wife's smiles were of more consequence to you than England's prestige with the Sultan,--oh?" I made no answer to this sarcasm, but began busying myself with the correspondence, packing it away in the dispatch-bag and sealing it for delivery to Hammerton, the messenger, who was waiting in an adjoining room ready to take it to Constantinople.