story of me, and his story of himself, were both
equally false. Into the truth, as regards
myself, I do not choose to enter. It is needless,
and you are as incapable of understanding as
you are indifferent to it. The truth about him
I mean to tell you for his sake."

"Why?" stammered the listener.

"Because he is in danger, and I want to
save him, because I love him—him, mind you,
not the man you have fancied him, not the
persuasive bland lover you have found him, no
doubt; for I conclude he has not changed the
character he assumed that night upon the
balcony; but the hard, the cruel, the desperate
man he is. I tell you"—she drew a little nearer,
and again Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge shrank
from her—"he is a swindler, a liar, and a thief;
he has lived by such means for years, was living
by them when he married me. They are failing
him now, and he feels the game is up here.
What his exact plan is, of course I do not
know; but that it includes getting you and
your fortune into his power I have no doubt."

Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge shivered now under
the unsparing gaze. If only this woman would
turn her eyes away from her, she thought, in
the midst of her fear and amazement—the eyes
that pierced her, that suffocated her, like the
gripe of a fierce hand upon her throat! She did
not know his plan. No; but who could look at
her and doubt that, if she chose to know it, she
could force the information from her hearer?
Who could listen to her cold even tones, and
dream of resisting their implacable power?

"Whatever his plan may be," Harriet
continued, "he is entirely absorbed in it, and he is
indifferent to all beside. Mind, I don't say
you count for nothing in this: you are too vain
to believe, I am too wise to say, anything of the
kind. But your beauty, which he likes, would
never have tempted him to an insane disregard
of his safety, would never have kept him here
when the merest prudence should have driven
him far away. He wants you, but he wants
your money more urgently and desperately.
He needs time to win you and it, no matter
how he means to do it, and time is what he has
not to give, time is the one stake it is ruin to
him to risk in this game. Do you hear me?
Do you understand me?"

The blank white face feebly looked a negative.

"No. Then I will put it more plainly. My
husband, your lover, the man who is trying to
ruin you in reputation, that he may have the
power to ruin you in fortune, is in imminent
danger. Flight, and flight alone, could save
him; but he refuses to fly, because he will not
leave you."

"What—what has he done?"

"He has been concerned in a robbery," said
Harriet, with perfect composure, "and I know
the police are on the right track, and will soon
come up with him. But he is desperate, and
refuses to go. I did not know why until yesterday,
when I found you had followed him from
Homburg—by arrangement, of course. Tush,
woman! don't try to deny it. What does it
matter to me? A lie more or less, a villainy
more or less, makes no difference in him for me;
but I knew then why he was obstinately bent
on waiting for his fate."

"I—I don't believe you," said Mrs. P. Ireton
Bembridge; and she half rose from her
chair, and stretched her hand towards the
bell. But Harriet stopped her by the lifting of
a finger.

"Oh yes, you do," she said; "you believe
me implicitly. You have been afraid of this man—
even when he has flattered you, and won upon
you most; you have never felt sure of him,
and you know I am telling you the truth.
But you are weak, and you would like to think
you had not been quite so egregiously
deceived. I cannot, for his sake, leave you this
comfort. You lost a locket at Homburg—a
golden egg-shaped toy—with two portraits in
it, one of yourself, the other of a young man, a
countryman of yours, an admirer. You prized
the thing, you showed it to my husband, you
talked of its value—is this true?"

"Yes, yes, it is true—what then?"

"This then: he stole that locket from you, as
he sat by you, in your carriage, and talked
sentiment and compliment to you. He stole
the locket—it does not sound nice, or heroic;
he stole it, I tell you."

"Impossible—impossible."

"Am I in the confidence of your maid? Do
I know the contents of your jewel-case? But
this is folly, this is pretence; you know in your
soul that I am telling you the truth. And now for
the reason of my telling it. If you think I am
a jealous woman, come here to expose my
husband to my rival, and take him from her by
even such desperate means, you make my task
harder, by giving me blind folly to deal with. I
came with no thought of myself or you: though
I do, indeed, save you by coming, I have no
care, no wish to do so; you are nothing to me,
but. a danger in his path. That his safety
will be yours too, is your fortune, not my
doing. I care not; it might be your destruction,
and it would be all one to me. I am not
jealous of you; you are nothing to me, and he
has long been lost to me. But he must not be
lost to himself too, and for that I am here. I
can do nothing with or for him more, but you
can: he loves you, after his fashion, and you can
save him."

"/—/ save him—from what? how? what
do you mean? If you have told me the truth,
why should I, if I could?"

Calmly and contemplatively Harriet looked
at her; calmly she said, as if to herself:

"And I am sure he thinks you love him!
Wonderful, very wonderful! but," she went on,
with quicker utterance, "that does not matter.
You can save him. I will answer your last
question first: to convince you that this must be
done, for your own sake, will save time. You
did not know his character until now, but I
think you know something of his temper; I
think you understand that he is a desperate