"Lance," she murmured, "I must avail myself of this, the only opportunity I have had, to crave your pardon and forgetfulness for a confession which I too sadly remember with blushes of shame for my madness and folly. Forgive me for recurring to that moment of frenzy and shame. I only do so to entreat your pardon and crave your forgetfulness." He felt the small hand trembling within his arm where it rested, like a fluttering bird; looking down in the brilliant moonlight he saw tears shining like drops of dew on her down-drooped lashes. He did not answer, and she continued, in a voice full of sadness and shame: "Words cannot paint my grief and shame for that deeply deplored confession. Not shame that I love you, Lance, but shame that in an hour of impulsive and passionate abandonment, I showed you the secret of my heart and gained in return your bitterest scorn." "No, no, you mistake me, dear madam," said he, struggling for words to reassure her. "It was not scorn--it was grief that moved me to speak as I did. I felt your words dimly as an outrage on the modesty of womanhood--oh, forgive me, I do not know how to express myself," cried he, feeling himself floundering into deeper depths with every effort he made to extricate himself. "You express yourself only too clearly," she cried with inexpressible bitterness; "I see that my fault will never be forgiven or forgotten." "Oh! indeed it will," cried Lance eagerly, trying to condone his offensive words. "What I meant to say was this; I felt very badly over your words at first, but since I have seen how much you regret your rashness I have ceased to consider it anything but a momentary indiscretion which I trust soon to wholly forget, when you will again be reinstated in my whole confidence and respect." "Oh! thank you, thank you," she cried, chafing at the coldness of his words, but trying to content herself since she could extract no kinder speech from him. "Believe me, Lance, I will try to merit your confidence, and no indiscretion of mine shall wound you again." "And we will drop that subject forever, will we not?" said he, leading her up the hotel steps and into the warm, lighted parlor. "Forever!" she answered with a quivering sigh. He drew forward a chair before the glowing coal fire and led her to it. "You must feel tired and cold after your long walk," he said; "I will have something warm sent in while I inquire about the sleigh." He went away and directly a neat serving-maid entered, bearing a tray of warm refreshments. Mrs. Vance drank some coffee, but had no appetite for the viands, warm and delicious as they appeared, so the maid, with a courtesy took the tray and retired. She waited some time before Lance returned. He came in looking pale and troubled.