“No!” said the young girl, with a profound conviction, “no, no; you will not do me so foul a wrong as to disguise your feelings before me now!

You loved me; you were sure of your affection for me; you did not deceive yourself; you do not lie to your own heart — whilst I — I — ” And pale as death, her arms thrown despairingly above her head, she fell upon her knees.

“Whilst you,” said Raoul, “you told me you loved me, and yet you loved another.”

“Alas, yes!” cried the poor girl; “alas, yes! I do love another; and that other — oh! for Heaven’s sake let me say it, Raoul, for it is my only excuse — that other I love better than my own life, better than my