“Forgive me, for we have wronged Rosalind so much that we cannot sit in judgment on her sins. Yes, yes, I will bury my resentment, I will be friends for your sakes, not for hers.” They were glad of even that concession, and Senator Bonair hastened to say that he would like to bring Rosalind in and have the greeting over, that is, if it would not agitate Charley too much. Charley faintly protested that he should not mind at all. So presently the smiling beauty was ushered in to where Berenice sat stroking Charley’s thin hand so tenderly in hers, and though the sight almost drove her wild with anger, she kept her cool, set smile, and spoke calmly, with friendly words of greeting, though the hand she touched to theirs was so cold it made them shudder. “I am intruding only for a moment,” she smiled, and quickly withdrew on the senator’s arm, while Charley dropped asleep again, and Berenice sobbed to herself in silent grief: “Oh, my secret, my bitter secret I have kept so long, would that I could forget it now!” The day waned to a close, the purple gloaming fell, and the nurse who had had a day off for rest, now came in, saying: “You have been in so closely all day you must go out into the fresh air and rest a while. I will watch your husband carefully.” She wondered why Berenice caught her hand so tightly, whispering passionately: “I will not go until you promise to remain closely by the bed and not to trust him to any other, not even his father and sisters, till I return.” “I promise faithfully, madam,” returned the nurse. “That is well,” said Berenice briefly, and she slipped out into the fragrant, balmy gloaming, with a sense of relief in the perfect solitude. She walked down the quiet country road a little way, drawing back into the shadows as a man passed her on his way toward the cottage, reining his horse up there a little later, as she saw to her intense surprise. For a moment, in one hurried glance, she thought she recognized this man. Was he, could he possibly be Adrian Vance, her own mother’s prodigal son, by a former marriage? Ah, no! it was impossible that Adrian should appear on the scene, now, after all these years of absence, during which he had never seen or written to his mother. “I must not go any farther,” she said, pausing suddenly and sitting down beneath a low-spreading tree, the center of a thick undergrowth of shrubbery. “I will sit here and think over my troubles a while, for my heart misgives me I am not doing right to hold my peace and let Charley’s noble father marry wicked Rosalind. She does not love him, I am sure, and--ah, there are voices. Some one is passing; I hope I shall not be seen.” She drew back and almost held her breath, seeing through the dark branches that a man and woman were walking together toward her retreat. She started in wonder when she saw that it was Rosalind and the man she had seen on horseback. CHAPTER XXXIX. A STOLEN INTERVIEW.