“Wait! Let us talk it over first!” entreated the girl, and most unwillingly he assented, for he was wild with anger, and eager to remove from Daisie’s mind the false impression that had turned her heart against him. Annette’s first words fell like ice on his burning heart: “What is to be gained by telling poor Daisie the truth? She is already Royall Sherwood’s wife. Nothing can alter that.” It was true, and the realization of it forced a stifled groan from his pallid lips. The majority of people thought that Annette Janowitz was only a pretty, frivolous girl, with not an idea in her head beyond dressing and flirting; but she showed herself to be very sensible in her advice to the angry lover. Still grasping him lest he should escape her, she continued eagerly: “I want you to consider Daisie now, and not yourself. She believes now that you are a wretch, unworthy her love and confidence.” “She shall not think so long!” he groaned. “But yes, she shall; for, Lord Werter, it would but make our poor Daisie more unhappy to tell her the truth.” He did not answer, only looked incredulous, and she hurried on: “I will tell you the truth, for it is your due. Daisie is bitterly unhappy--yes, I know it, for I am her confidante--and her only comfort is in feeling that she acted for the best in everything; that she saved Royall’s life by staying with him, and that she had a lucky escape in not marrying such a wretch as you are supposed to be.” Again he groaned in bitterness of soul, and Annette added: “If she learned the cruel truth--that she was duped into the marriage, and that you were loyal all the while--I believe that her heart would break with the agony of the knowledge.” “My poor lost love!” he sighed; and his grief for her seemed even greater than his own. He remembered how dearly she had loved him, how she had clung to him the night of their parting. And the cruel woman whose prattling had forced them asunder, he cursed her in his heart. “If you could see Royall Sherwood, who won her from you, in the desolation and hopelessness of his life, in his secret, jealous pain over Daisie, I believe you could find it in your heart to pity him,” exclaimed Annette, with tears in her brilliant eyes. “I do pity him,” he answered. “Then have mercy on him and on her--the girl you love. Keep this miserable secret, that could but add to their misery, and leave them in peace!” she implored. “And forego revenge on that scheming woman?” he cried wrathfully. “Yes; for both their sakes. Some day, when he is dead, poor fellow!”--she shuddered as with a chill--“let the truth come out, take Daisie, and be happy.” “I am not waiting for dead men’s shoes; and he may live to be an old man.” “You would not think so, if you could see what a wreck he is--so wasted and worn that you would scarcely know him again.” “You seem to have a great sympathy for him,” Lord Werter said, guessing perhaps at its source, from what Ray Dering had told him.