At those words from her lover's lips Jaquelina gasped for breath like one dying. Her head fell heavily back against her chair, and her eyelids closed. Ronald bent over her in surprise and alarm.

"Lina, did I tell you too suddenly?" he exclaimed, chafing the limp and nerveless hands. "Forgive me, I forgot how weak and nervous you must be yet."

It was a shock to her, there could be no doubt of that. She lay silent several minutes, her heart throbbing quick and fast. It was some little while before she could speak. When she did, she uttered only one word through pale lips:

"When?"

"Almost a week ago now," he replied. "Are you strong enough for me to tell you about it, Lina?"

"Yes," she replied, and he drew a chair to her side.

"Will you suffer me to hold your hand while I am telling you, Lina?" he inquired, fondly.

She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then she answered, with a slight flush:

"No; I would rather you should not do so."

A troubled look came into the blue-gray eyes a moment as they rested on the leaping flames of the fire; then he said, with apparent composure:

"You knew I had been in New York for two weeks, Lina?"

"No, I did not know it," she replied, surprised.

"True, how should you know it?" he said, half to himself. "Well, I was, and last week Professor Larue called on me at my hotel."

"The dear old soul! I hope he was well," exclaimed Jaquelina, warmly.

"Yes, he was well," said Ronald Valchester, "and very impatient for your return to New York. A dying man had sent for you, and when he found that you were out of reach he called for me."

"You went?" said Lina, looking at him with wide, dark eyes.

"Yes, Lina. Judge of my surprise when, in an obscure and comfortless abode in the suburbs of Brooklyn, I found the handsome outlaw, Gerald Huntington, stretched upon his dying bed."

"Dying!" Jaquelina repeated after him, with something like awe in her low voice.

"Yes, dying, but dying ashamed and repentant. There was a priest with him. He passed away peacefully."

"And he sent for me?" the girl said, wonderingly.

"Yes, he sent for you, and he was very much disappointed and grieved that you were too far away to come in time. He wished to ask your forgiveness for the cowardly revenge he took upon you for the ill-turn you did him once."

"I have been so sorry for it," she said, weakly, and blushing crimson. "I was so young and untutored I did not think. It was all because I needed the money so much. If I could have seen him on his dying bed I would have asked him to forgive me my sin of ingratitude, and I must have forgiven him for the revenge he took. I could not have refused to forgive him when he was dying."

"Yes, I told him that," said Ronald. "I understood you so well, Lina, I knew just what you would say and feel. I told him to rest quite easy about that."

Lina thanked him with a grateful glance, quickly withdrawn.

"He had sinned against you, too," she said, tremulously. "That dreadful wound! You forgave him, Ronald?"

"Freely," he replied; and then they were silent a moment, and Lina looked at the softly falling snow through the windows, and Ronald looked at her steadily and gravely.

He did not flinch as his eyes marked the scarred, discolored skin that covered the once delicately lovely face.

After a pause Ronald said, gravely:

"Huntington had a confession to make to you, Lina."

"A confession?" she repeated, turning her dark eyes from the window to look at him with grave surprise.

"Yes," he said. "You must have wondered, Lina, often and often, what mysterious discovery caused him to give you up in the very moment when, by violence he had made you his bride."

"I have wondered over it often. It was the happy cause that delivered me from a life more bitter than death," she replied, with a shudder.

"He explained it to me, Lina, and perhaps I should leave the story untold to you. Are you willing for me to do so?" he inquired.

Lina meditated a moment, then replied:

"I would prefer to hear it."

"Spoken like a true daughter of Eve," said her companion, with a slight smile. "Very well, Lina, I will do as you say, but I fear it will pain you to hear my story. And there is one thing you must promise me. You will tell no one else?"

"Yes, I will promise that," she replied.

"Listen to a bit of the outlaw's history, then," he said. "In the first place, his true name was not Gerald Huntington at all."

"Then what——" said Lina, and paused abruptly.

"It was an alias he adopted when he fell into evil and wicked courses. He belonged to a well-born family in France. He was not an American, Lina—he was French."

Lina's eyes were a little startled as she looked up at him; a sight pallor crept about her lips.

"He was the younger son of a man who was so severely just, Lina, and so proud and passionate, withal, that his children feared him instead of loving him. His eldest daughter ran away with a young American artist, and died under Virginian skies in only a few brief months. His younger son, maddened by the sternness and harshness of his only parent, also ran away to America. He fell into temptation, yielded blindly to evil, and cast aside forever, the noble name he had disgraced."

He paused, and Jaquelina regarded him with wild, wondering eyes.

"Lina, I need not tell you more," he said. "You can guess."

She lifted her small hands dizzily to her brow.

"Tell me yourself," she said. "I am so dazed it seems to me I cannot understand unless I hear the very words."

He said them over, reluctantly enough:

"Gerald Huntington's true name is Ardelle. Your mother, little Lina, was his elder sister. He was your own uncle. Your mother's jewelry revealed your true identity to him that night."

A moan of pain came from the girl's white lips as she pressed her hand to her brow.

"My own uncle!" she cried. "Oh, the shame and disgrace of it!"

"It is a buried secret," he replied. "No one will ever know! I promised him that myself, Lina. He died repentant. I believe that a noble nature was marred when Gerald Ardelle, with his princely beauty and glorious intellect, fell into evil ways."

"But he died repentant," she murmured, hopefully.

"Yes, he was very sorry for his sins," replied Ronald. "He regretted his sin against you the most of all."

After a moment he added, gently:

"His dearest wish, Lina, was that you and I might be re-united."

She put up her hands as if she could not bear the words.

"He was full of life and strength," she said. "Why did he die? What killed him, Ronald?"

"You will not be shocked if I tell you?" he said, hesitatingly.

"I wish to know," she answered.

"He was in the theater the night you were burned," he answered in a low voice. "He tried to save your life, dear. He leaped from the upper tier into the parquette—fell, and was almost trampled to death beneath the feet of the maddened multitude. He died a slow and painful death from internal injuries."

"He died for me," Jaquelina cried in a voice of pain, and the tears fell from her eyes for the man who had wrecked her life and given his own so freely at last for her sake.

Ronald wiped those tears away, and when she could speak she said, looking gravely at him:

"Ronald, who was it that saved my life? Tell me."

"No one knows," he replied, uneasily.

"Yes, Ronald, I know—I have always known," she replied. "Ah, do not blush. I have never breathed it to anyone, but I know that it was you that saved me from death that night."

"I thought you insensible," he exclaimed, unconsciously admitting the truth of her words.

"Ah, Ronald!" she cried, with sudden uncontrollable pain and passion. "I was almost dead, but I knew whose arms held me, and whose lips kissed me. It seems to me if I were dead and you touched me, even, I should surely know it."

"Ah, Lina, my darling," he cried, "there are no barriers between us now. All are broken. You will be my own at last!"

She looked at her lover with dark, despairing eyes and a death-white face.

"You forget—Violet," she said, in a desolate whisper.

She saw a dark shadow come over the handsome, love-lighted face.

"Lina, I have not told you all that Gerald Huntington told me yet," he said. "Do you remember that it was a disguised woman who liberated him from prison?"

"Yes," she replied, wonderingly.

"It was Violet who connived at his escape, and furnished him the means to get away safely. The price of her aid was that he should kidnap you and prevent our marriage."

"I can scarcely believe it," cried the girl.

"It is quite true," he answered. "Gerald swore to it. Violet does not deny it."

"You did not charge her with it?" the girl cried, in breathless dismay.

"Yes," he replied, firmly. "She was very angry at first, but when I had talked to her awhile, she owned the truth. She had visited the prisoner, and they had concocted their diabolical plan of revenge together. She hated you, dear, because—she loved me."

"And she gave you back your freedom?" Lina said, with unconscious hopefulness.

"Yes, when I had asked her," he answered, with a slight flush. "Her offense had been too great for me to marry her. Do you blame me, Lina?"

She would not say, only asked him, anxiously:

"Was Violet repentant?"

"She was sorry she had been found out, and very angry with Gerald Huntington for betraying the secret. I do not believe she has reached the verge of repentance just yet."

"Poor Violet!" the girl said, with infinite compassion. "You will not tell anyone about it, Ronald?"

"No, darling, I promised her I would not. Many people have secrets hidden in their lives. This will be one in Violet's, and Gerald Huntington's near kinship to you, will be one in yours. I did not even tell Walter her story. I gave her the privilege of saying she had jilted me. You will not mind taking a man who has been jilted, will you, Lina?"

She looked at the handsome, happy face, with the eager light of hope shining in the blue-gray eyes, and her lips quivered. Years had passed since she had seen the light of happiness shining on Ronald Valchester's face.

"Ronald, I must not take you now," she said, "I am not the Lina you loved years ago. I have lost my beauty."

"You will always be beautiful to me," he answered, loyally. "Lina, my love was no weak, shallow passion for a fair face such as Walter Earle cherished for you. It was not altogether your beauty that won me first. There was about you a singular unconscious fascination—a luring charm—sweet and subtle as the fragrance of a flower, that won me even against my will. That nameless charm lingers about you still, though your wondrous fairness has faded like a flower. You remember—

So, although you have lost your beauty, Lina, the real, undefinable charm that held me, holds me still."

Lina looked at him with dewy eyes. His whole, handsome, eager face was lighted with the tenderness of his heart.

He took her small hands and held them fondly in his own.

"Lina, we were made for each other," he pleaded; "we both love poetry, music, and everything beautiful. Fate has been hard and unkind to us, but she has relented at last. You are going to be my wife."

Lina could not resist his pleading, and the gentle arm that stole around her. She hid her face on his breast and wept the happiest tears that ever rained from a happy woman's eyes. She had loved Ronald so long and so well, and she was going to be his wife at last.

Only one month later they were happily married amid the rejoicings of all the neighborhood. General and Mrs. Valchester were present and seemed very happy in the happiness of their idolized son. Mr. Earle was also present, but Walter and Violet sent regrets. Their father said that they were very busy making arrangements for a long projected tour abroad.

Mrs. Meredith's wedding-gift to her husband's niece was a mysterious box swathed around with silver paper.

Ronald was quite mystified to hear her say, gratefully, when she received it:

"A thousand thanks, Aunt Meredith. I would rather have this box than Croesus' fortune!"

It has been frequently said that women have all the curiosity in the world and men none at all, but Ronald Valchester was exceedingly curious over his wife's bridal gift. He thought over it several times, and at last he said to her:

"Lina, my darling, what precious gift was that which your uncle's wife gave you on your wedding-day?"

They were in Richmond then, spending the honey-moon very quietly at General Valchester's splendid residence at the West End. Lina was too sensitive over her marred beauty to allow them to persuade her into society and gayety. She took Ronald's white fingers now, and passed them gently over her cheeks.

"Ronald," she said, "do you perceive that my skin is becoming softer and smoother?"

"Yes, and fairer, too," he replied. "The discolorations are disappearing very fast. What does it mean, Lina?"

"It means that Aunt Meredith was wiser than the New York doctors," she laughed. "She has prepared a salve for me from various woodland roots and herbs that is slowly obliterating every scar and discoloration from my face. She declares that in a year I shall be as pretty as I ever was."

"Then I shall bless the kind soul forever!" he cried out joyfully, and Lina knew then for the first time how silently and sadly Ronald had sorrowed for the loss of her wondrous beauty.

It was two years later when the two were traveling, that they met Walter Earle.

He had attended morning service at a pretty English church, and he heard a grand, glorious, triumphant voice, rising, as it were, to Heaven on the wings of the Gloria in Excelsis. He looked around and saw Ronald Valchester sitting by his wife's side.

Jaquelina had grown more beautiful than ever. Every trace of her accident had disappeared. The dark eyes were radiant with youth and health, the long lashes rested on a rose-flushed cheek, the scarlet mouth smiled as she chanted:

"Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, good will to men."

Walter covered his face with his hands, and gave one sigh, deep and bitter, to the memory of what he had lost through his weakness.

When they came out of the church he was strong enough to meet them and speak to them.

They were glad and surprised in a breath. They asked him if he was married yet, and if Violet was with him.

"No, I am not married yet, and my sister is dead," he answered sadly, and then he showed them her grave. It was right in the churchyard there, and just a little way from the path.

The low, green mound was covered with white and blue violets, and there was a broken marble shaft at the head, twined about with passion flowers.

"She has been dead six months," he said, tremulously, and then he saw the husband and wife look at each other with a shade of remorse and pain in their speaking eyes.

"She had quite gotten over her trouble," he said, quickly. "She seemed perfectly well and happy. She talked of you, Ronald, and you, Mrs. Valchester, kindly and often. But she inherited her mother's disease. She died very suddenly and painlessly one evening while sitting in her chair and watching a beautiful sunset."

Jaquelina shed some quiet and sorrowful tears over Violet's early doom. They were the first tears that had dimmed her lovely eyes since she had married Ronald Valchester. He made her very happy.

In the beautiful, calm years of wedded happiness that flowed serenely over their future lives, the few years of passionate sorrow she had known were forgotten wholly, or remembered only as a haunting dream.