“You remained there some little time, and when you turned away, you stopped to look back, and in doing so you laid your hand—­this one,—­” she touched Margie’s slender left hand, on which shone Archer Trevlyn’s betrothal ring—­“on the gate post.  Do you remember it?”

“Yes, I remember it.”

“And while it rested there—­while your eyes were turned away, that hand was touched—­by something soft, and warm, and sentient—­too warm, too passionate, to be the kiss of a disembodied soul.  Living human lips, that scorched into your flesh, and thrilled you as nothing else ever had the power to thrill you!”

Margie trembled convulsively, her color came and went, and she clasped and unclasped her hands with nervous agitation.

“Am I not speaking the truth?”

“Yes, yes—­go on.  I am listening.”

“Was there, in all the world, at that time, more than one person whose kiss had the power to thrill you as that kiss thrilled you?  Answer me, Margie Harrison!”

“I will not!  You have no right to ask me!” she replied, passionately.

“It is useless to attempt disguise, Margie.  I can read your very thoughts.  At the moment you felt that touch, you knew instinctively who was near you.  You felt and acknowledged the presence of one who had no right to be kissing the hand of another man’s promised wife.  And yet the forbidden sin of that person was sweet to you.  You stooped and pressed your lips where his had been!  Whose?”

“I do not know—­indeed I do not!  Why do you torture me so, Alexandrine?”

“My poor child, I will say no more.  Good-night, Margie.  I trust you will have a pleasant evening with Mr. Trevlyn.”

Margie caught the flowing skirt of Miss Lee’s dress.

“You shall tell me all!  I must know.  I have heard too much to be kept in ignorance of the remainder.”

“So be it.  You shall hear all.  You know that Archer Trevlyn was in the graveyard, or near it, that night, though you might not see him.  Yet you were sure of his presence—­”

“I was not!  I tell you, I was not!” she cried, fiercely.  “I saw no one; not a person!”

“Then, if you were not sure of his presence, you loved some other; else why did you put your lips where those of a stranger had been?  In that case, you were doubly false!”

Margie’s cheeks were crimson with shame.  She covered her face with her hands, and was silent.

“How many can you love at once, Margie Harrison?”

“Alexandrine, you are cruel!—­cruel!  Is it not enough for you to tell me the truth, without torturing me thus?”

A flash of conscious triumph crossed the cold face of Miss Lee, and then she was calm as before.

“No, I am not cruel—­only truthful.  You cannot deny that you knew Archer Trevlyn was near you.  You will not deny it.  Margie, I know what love is—­I know something of its keen, subtle instincts.  I should recognize the vicinity of the man I loved, though all around me were black as midnight.”