“Yes,” he said.  “Everything is strange to-night.  It is like a new world, and—­and I have not found my way—­yet.”

She drew back still further.

“Are you mad?” she whispered.

“No,” he answered.  “Not now—­that Is past.”

She looked at him for a little time; and, her hands joined before her, her fingers locked and interlocked nervously.

“And—­and Thornton?” she asked, at last.

“It was a trust,” said Madison slowly; “but it was betrayed before it was given.  He did not know—­the game.  He did not know what was between—­you and me.”

“No,” she said—­and the word came almost inaudibly.

“And so,” he said, “I will tell you, for it cannot matter now in any case.  He told me that he had asked you to marry him to-night—­and that you had refused.”

Madison paused, and swept his hand across his forehead—­his voice somehow had suddenly grown hoarse, beyond control.

“Yes,” she said—­and reached again for the back of the bench, supporting herself against it.

“He is going away,” Madison continued; “and he is to send more money here for the ’cause’—­when I ask for it—­only you are not to know, because you might be diffident about taking it after refusing him.”

She stared at him numbly—­there was no sarcasm in his words; in his tones only a sort of dreary monotony.  She shivered a little—­how cold it seemed!  She did not quite grasp his words—­and yet she shrank from them.  And then her very soul seemed to cry out against them, to pit itself against their meaning, as their meaning surged upon her.  And unconsciously she drew herself up, and the whiteness of her face fled before a rush of color.

“Oh, the shame of it!” she burst out.  “The bitter shame of it!  You shall not touch the money—­do you hear!  You shall not touch it!  I—­I thought that you had understood this afternoon.  I am glad then that you have come to-night—­if I must say more to make you understand.  This is the end!  I do not care what happens—­the little I can do now to atone for what I have done, I am going to do.  The game is at an end—­you shall not touch another cent—­and everything that we have taken goes back to those whom we have worse than robbed it from!  You hear—­you understand!  I will cry it out in the town street if there is no other way—­but it shall stop—­it shall stop to-night”—­she was panting, breathless, the little figure erect, outraged, quivering—­and then suddenly the shoulders seemed to droop, the lips to tremble, and she was on her knees upon the grass beside the bench, and sobbing as a child.

“Helena!” Madison said hoarsely.  “Helena!  Listen!  That is what I came for to-night—­to find a way out for you, for us all, if I can.”

The passionate outburst passed—­and she was on her feet again, facing him.

“You are clever—­clever!” she cried fiercely.  “But you shall not play with me—­you shall not trick me—­I meant every word I said!”