then. Miss Bellasys, on what authority from me did you
venture to interfere in my  so far as to intercept my
correspondence?"

She tried denial still; it was her way; she always _would_ do it, even
when it could avail nothing--perhaps to gain time.

"I don't know what you mean. I never--"

Livingstone interrupted her, with a curl of  on his lip.

"Stop, I beg of you. It is useless to stoop lower than you have done
already. I have Willis's written confession here. Ah! I know your
talents too well to accuse you without material proof."

She raised her head, haughtily enough now. There was something Spartan
about that girl. She had such an utter recklessness of exposure--it was
in failure that she felt the .

"At least _you_ ought not to reproach me. You might guess my motive--my
only one--without forcing me to confess it. Have I not gratified your
 enough already?"

"You know that is not the question," Guy answered, gravely. "Yet you are
half right. I could not reproach you for any fair, honest move. In much,
I own myself more guilty than you. But this is very