“Hush, you shall not accuse me of _that_,” she interrupted, wildly. “There stands the heartless woman who broke poor John Keith’s heart. She is his divorced wife,” pointing an accusing finger at handsome Louise Barry. The magnificent-looking beauty lifted her hands and eyes to heaven with an expressive shrug of her graceful shoulders. “Heavens, what a false and wicked creature!” she exclaimed. “Aunt Thalia, you have Aunt Lucy’s letter telling you of Molly Trueheart’s entanglement with John Keith although we did not know it had gone as far as a secret marriage.” “Yes, I have the letter. Here, Cecil, read it,” exclaimed Mrs. Barry, thrusting it into his hand. Mechanically he ran his eyes over the open page, but presently a little hand plucked timidly at his sleeve. “I do not believe Aunt Lucy Everett wrote those falsehoods about me,” cried Molly, dauntlessly, “she was a good woman and as kind to me as cruel Louise would allow her to be. You see she has not followed me to persecute me like these others.” “She was sick and could not come,” Louise Barry said, with scornful composure, and again a silence fell that was broken by Cecil’s voice, low and stern: “This letter has the stamp of truth upon it. I have indeed been cruelly, shamelessly imposed on by an adventuress.” “No, no!” in a voice of agonized remonstrance. “Hush!” he said, looking at her sternly, rebukingly. “I know you now for the false, treacherous creature you are, and your denials will not be heeded. I have loved you, but I will tear you out of my heart and life. After this hour I will never willingly see your face again.” She cried out, desperately: “Oh, for sweet pity’s sake take back your words. I am not the vile creature you believe me. The only wrong I have done was in wedding you under a false name. But you will be merciful, you will repair that ignorant deed, you will make me your real wife for the sake of--” the beseeching prayer was never ended, for exhausted nature gave way and the girl fell gasping, and in a moment lay still as death upon the floor. * * * * * She came to herself after what seemed a long, long time, and found that she was alone in the room but for her maid, who was bathing her face and hands in _eau de Cologne_. “Oh, Mrs. Laurens, I was afraid you were dead!” she exclaimed. “I wish I were!” sighed the poor girl, bitterly, realizing all her desolation, and the maid, who had cleverly found out all that had passed, thought that it would indeed be better for the deserted wife. She saw the dark eyes wandering wistfully around the room, and said, compassionately: “All the family are gone away, ma’am, and Mr. Laurens gave me this note for you.” Molly took it with trembling fingers and read the angry words: