looking down, and shook his head sadly.
"Rupert said there would be no risks," she continued; "I was to destroy the letter before you."
"Risks?" said he, interrupting her; "do you think I care about risks? It is not the risks I was thinking about; this is a matter of honour. No," he continued; "I would do anything that a man may do to serve you — or your husband either, but this is impossible."
"It is easy to make fine professions of friendship," said Olivia in a tone of pique, and turning her head aside; "but they do not come to much when put to the test."
"Olivia — Mrs. Kirke, why do you say such cruel things? You must know that they are not true. Don't you understand that the thing has gone beyond my power to stop it? I have already stated before the court of inquiry that I did receive the letter. I did it for the best, knowing nothing of the trap that was laid for him, and heaven knows I would give everything I possess to have left it unsaid. But the thing is done, and it cannot be undone."
"You mean that the suspicion might attach to you, if the letter is not produced? Yes," she added eagerly, "Rupert spoke about that. He particularly told me to say that you need not be uneasy on that score; no one would think of doubting your word. Yes, that was what he said himself — it would all be put down to some mistake; and he would give you a paper, in any form you liked, to clear you now and forever."
"How much has your husband told you about the case?" Yorke asked, sadly. "If you knew the whole case you would understand that this would not be enough to get him out of the difficulty. You would understand ——"
"I understand so much, that if Rupert is brought before the court-martial, and the letter is produced, he will be ruined. He told me so himself just now. Oh, Major Yorke, if not for him, for my sake, and in memory of old days, be merciful!" and as she made this appeal in urgent tones, Olivia, stepping forward, knelt down before him, and taking his hand, looked up beseechingly in his face.
"Olivia, Olivia!" he said, mournfully. "why do you tempt me? You know how passionately I have loved you, for although you are no coquette, you must have seen how I have been ready to worship the ground you trod on any time for these three years past. I don't say you have played with my feelings, for I was a fool all along, and deserved my fate; but you must have seen through them partly, although I dare say you did not guess the depth of my love. No, you need not be afraid," he continued, quitting his grasp of her hand, as Olivia, whom by this time he had caused to rise and be seated again, looked up at him with a flushed and frightened face, as he stood over her; "there can be no harm in my telling you this now, once and for all, and getting rid of the burden on my soul, for all that is past and gone. Dearly as I used to love you, and love you still, I would not marry you now, if you were free to-morrow and would have me. It is brutal of me, is it not, to say so? and I dare say you don't understand me, but the Olivia of my fancy has passed away, and can never live for me again. But look here, Mrs. Kirke," he went on eagerly, and as he spoke it seemed to him that their relations had suddenly altered — she was no longer the goddess to be set on a pedestal and worshipped from below; his Olivia would never have asked him to do a dishonourable action for any reason — this was merely a weak woman following her husband's crooked ways, — "look here," he said; "I want you to understand that it is not a matter in which I can really save your husband. If the letter had not been found, people might have said that I had lied about it — and thought so too, and they might have been welcome to think so, if it could have saved you from pain and trouble. But what is the good," he added mournfully, "of talking about what might have been? The letter has been found. And if the court ask me if I have found it, am I to perjure myself? And if I admit having found it, and refuse to produce it, don't you see that this makes things look even worse? No, Mrs. Kirke, you will say I am offering an empty pledge when I declare that I would gladly give my life to save yours; but the thing you want me to do is impossible."
"Then I suppose," said Olivia, after a pause, rising slowly, and lowering her veil, as if to depart, and again turning away her face, "there is nothing more to be said. Offers of service are easily made, but they will not save my husband from ruin. Well, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you will succeed to the command of the regiment."
"You may reproach me as you like," said Yorke sadly; "but though I dare say you think very hardly of me, you must at least know that I am incapable of the meanness of profiting by your husband's
