“But why?”

“Why indeed.  That such a trumpery cause as a girl’s love should operate with such a man!”

“I can understand it; oh yes,—­I can understand it.”

“I believe he was tipsy, and he had been gambling, and had lost all his money—­more than all his money.  He was a ruined man, and reckless and wretched.  I can forgive him, and so does Harry.  But in the struggle Harry got the best of it, and left him there in the street.  No weapons had been used, except that Captain Scarborough had a stick.  There was no reason to suppose him hurt, nor was he much hurt.  He had behaved very badly, and Harry left him.  Had he gone for a policeman he could only have given him in charge.  The man was not hurt, and seems to have walked away.”

“The papers were full of it.”

“Yes, the papers were full of it, because he was missing.  I don’t know yet what became of him, but I have my suspicions.”

“They say that he has been seen at Monaco.”

“Very likely.  But I have nothing to do with that.  Though he was my cousin, I am touched nearer in another place.  Young Mr. Scarborough, who, I suspect, knows all about his brother, took upon himself to cross-question Mr. Annesley.  Mr. Annesley did not care to tell anything of that struggle in the streets, and denied that he had seen him.  In truth, he did not want to have my name mentioned.  My belief is that Augustus Scarborough knew exactly what had taken place when he asked the question.  It was he who really was false.  But he is now the heir to Tretton and a great man in his way, and in order to injure Harry Annesley he has spread abroad the story which they all tell here.”

“But why?”

“He does;—­that is all I know.  But I will not be a hypocrite.  He chose to wish that I should not marry Harry Annesley.  I cannot tell you farther than that.  But he has persuaded mamma, and has told every one.  He shall never persuade me.”

“Everybody seems to believe him,” said Mr. Anderson, not as intending to say that he believed him now, but that he had done so.

“Of course they do.  He has simply ruined Harry.  He too has been disinherited now.  I don’t know how they do these things, but it has been done.  His uncle has been turned against him, and his whole income has been taken from him.  But they will never persuade me.  Nor, if they did, would I be untrue to him.  It is a grand thing for a girl to have a perfect faith in the man she has to marry, as I have—­as I have.  I know my man, and will as soon disbelieve in Heaven as in him.  But were he what they say he is, he would still have to become my husband.  I should be broken-hearted, but I should still be true.  Thank God, though,—­thank God,—­he has done nothing and will do nothing to make me ashamed of him.  Now you know my story.”

“Yes; now I know it.”  The tears came very near the poor man’s eyes as he answered.

“And what will you do for me?”