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“Oh, this is worse than death! He makes me feel as if even God had no mercy for me. But I will expiate my wrong; I will, at the bitterest sacrifice which a woman can make.”

She sprang up to meet Ackland standing with folded arms before her. She started violently and leaned against the tree for support. But the weakness was momentary, for she wiped the tears from her eyes, and then turned to him so quietly that only her extreme pallor proved that she realized the import of her words.

“Mr. Ackland,” she asked, “have you Mr. Munson’s address?”

It was his turn now to start, but he merely answered: “Yes.”

“Do–do you think he still cares for me?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Since then you are so near a friend, will you write to him that I will try”–she turned away and would not look at him as, after a moment’s hesitation, she concluded her sentence–“I will try to make him as happy as I can.”

“Do you regret your course?” he asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

“I regret that I misled–that I wronged him beyond all words. I am willing to make all the amends in my power.”

“Do you love him?”

She now turned wholly away and shook her head.

“And yet you would marry him?”

“Yes, if he wished it, knowing all the truth.”

“Can you believe he would wish it?” he asked indignantly. “Can you believe that any man–“

“Then avenge him to your cruel soul’s content,” she exclaimed passionately. “Tell him that I have no heart to give to him or to any one. Through no effort or fault of mine I overheard Mrs. Alston’s words and yours. I know your design against me. Assuage your friend’s grief by assuring him of your entire success, of which you are already so well aware. Tell him how you triumphed over an untaught, thoughtless girl who was impelled merely by the love of power and excitement, as you are governed by ambition and a remorseless will. I did not know–I did not understand how cruel I was, although now that I do know I shall never forgive myself. But if you had the heart of a man you might have seen that you were subjecting me to torture. I did not ask or expect that you should care for me; but I had a right to hope for a little kindness, a little manly and delicate consideration, a little healing sympathy for the almost mortal wound that you have made. But I now see that you have stood by and watched like a grand inquisitor. Tell your friend that you have transformed the thoughtless girl into a suffering woman. I cannot go to Brazil. I cannot face dangers that might bring rest. I must keep my place in society–keep it too under a hundred observant and curious eyes. You have seen it all of late in this house; I was too wretched to care. It was a part of my punishment, and I accepted it. I would not be false again even in trying to conceal a secret which it is like death to a woman to reveal. I only craved one word of kindness from you. Had I received it, I would have gone away in silence and suffered in silence. But your course and what I have heard have made me reckless and despairing. You do not leave me even the poor consolation of self-sacrifice. You are my stony- hearted fate. I wish you had left me to drown. Tell your friend that I am more wretched than he ever can be, because I am a woman. Will he be satisfied?”

“He ought to be,” was the low, husky reply.

“Are you proud of your triumph?”

“No, I am heartily ashamed of it; but I have kept a pledge that will probably cost me far more than it has you.”

“A pledge?”

“Yes, my pledge to make you suffer as far as possible as he suffered.”