"My dear, you talk wildly," he said, in wonder. "It is true that your mother and sister have shown hearts harder than the nether mill-stone to you, but you have the noblest and most loving husband in the world!" "He will not love me any longer when he has heard all that I am going to tell you, Uncle Rob," she murmured through her choking sobs. And then she told him the shameful story of that missing year of her life as she had told it to Sydney a few months before; but it was not so hard to tell now, for instead of her sister's scornful looks and cruel words, she had a listener as tender and pitying as her own father had been--a listener whose tears fell more than once on the golden head bowed meekly on his shoulder. And when it all had been told and the weary head had slipped down to his knee, he had no reproaches for the suffering young heart that had already been so cruelly punished. He could only repeat: "My poor little one, my poor little one, may God help you!" "And you'll not desert me, Uncle Rob--not even if--if _he_ does?" she murmured. "No, never," he answered, fondly. "I'll stand by you, Queenie, if all the world forsakes you. You never meant to do wrong, I know that, and I will not scorn you because a devil in human shape has made desolate the fair young life that opened with such sweet promise. If Lawrence deserts you, we will go away together--you and I, pet--and wander around the world, restless and lonely, and yet not altogether desolate, for we shall still have each other for comfort and support." "But, oh, Uncle Rob, I love him so, I love him so. How can I give him up now, when I have been so happy with him? It is more than I could bear. He had as well plunge a knife into my heart and lay me dead before him as to leave me now," cried the wretched young wife, giving way to a very abandonment of grief. Uncle Rob could only say: "My poor Queenie, my poor darling, let us hope for the best!" He did not know how to comfort her, for he could not tell what course Captain Ernscliffe would pursue after hearing Leon Vinton's garbled version of Queenie's early error. He hoped for the best; but he feared the worst. He could not bear to leave her in her sorrow, so he remained with her until the luncheon hour, hoping that Captain Ernscliffe might return while he--her uncle--was present, that he might defend her from his possible reproaches. But the hours passed slowly by, and dinner was announced, yet he failed to come. They made no pretence at eating--these two sorrowing ones. They remained in the drawing-room alone, talking but little, and both on the alert for Captain Ernscliffe's coming. But the lovely, starry night had fallen, and the lamps were lighted before a strange step ran up the marble steps, and a letter was handed to Queenie. "It is from Lawrence," she said, tearing it open with a sinking heart.