“I do, freely.  Castrani is a noble soul.  I love him as I would a brother.”

“Continue to do so, Margie.  He deserves it, I think.  The night I left home, Alexandrine revealed to me the cause of your sudden rejection of me.  We quarrelled terribly.  I remember it with bitter remorse.  We parted in anger, Margie, and she died without my forgiveness and blessing.  It was very hard, but perhaps, at the last, she did not suffer.  I will believe so.”

“If she sinned, it was through love of you, Archer, and that should make you very forgiving toward her.”

“I have forgiven her long ago.  I know the proofs were strong against me.  I am not sure but that they were sufficient to have convicted me of murder in a court of law.  You were conscious of my presence that night in the graveyard, Margie?”

“Yes.  I thought it was you.  I knew no other man’s presence had the power to thrill and impress me as yours did.”

“I meant to impress you, Margaret.  I brought all the strength of my will to bear on that object.  I said to myself, she shall know that I am near her, and yet my visible presence shall not be revealed to her.  And now, can you guess why I was there?”

“Hardly.”

“Love ought to tell you.”

“It might tell me wrong.”

“No, Margie.  Never!  You know that I have loved you from the moment I saw you first, and though for a long, long time I never dared to think you would ever be to me anything more than a bright, beautiful vision, to be worshipped afar off, yet it agonized me to think of giving you up to another.  For after that it would be a sin to love you.  When I heard you were to marry that man, I cannot tell you how I suffered.  I set myself to ascertain if you cared for him.  And I was satisfied beyond a doubt that you did not.”

“You were correct.  I did not.”

“He was a villain of the deepest dye, Margie.  I do not know as Arabel Vere sinned in ridding the earth of him.  When I think that but for her crime you would now have been his wife, I am not sure that she was not the instrument of a justly incensed Providence to work out the decrees of the destiny.”

“O, Archer!  It was dreadful for him to die as he did.  But what a life of misery it saved me from!  I will not think of it.  I leave it all.”

“It is best to do so.  But to explain my presence at Harrison Park that night.  I went there hoping to catch a glimpse of you.  I wanted to see you once more before you were lost to me forever.  I did not desire to speak to you; I did not desire to disturb you in any way; but I wanted to see you before that man had a legal claim on you.  I watched your windows closely.  I had found out which was your window from one of the servants, and I watched its light which burned through the dusky twilight like the evening star.  I wonder if you had a thought for me, that night, Margie—­your wedding night?”

“I did think of you—­” she blushed, and hid her face on his shoulder—­“I did think of you.  I longed inexpressibly to fly to your side and be forever at rest!”